The Moments in the Memories
by alice.in.ink
Summary: Booth and Brennan are finally together and have a child on the way. Just as everything was going right, a serial killer emerges, and Brennan is hit on the head, erasing the past seven years of her life, including her memories of Booth.
1. The Hit on the Head

**I'm back! :) This is my new story, The Moments in the Memories.**

** In this story, Brennan and Booth are a couple, and Brennan is four months pregnant. **

**Disclaimer: This is me, disclaiming the disclaiming disclaimer. I own nothing except six seasons of Bones on DVD**.

**Chapter One. The Hit on the Head.**

Brennan and Booth walked up to the crime scene, both a little bitter that they were forced into working on this Saturday night. The duo had been on their way to a new Italian restaurant when the call came to Booth's cell phone.

Booth had groaned when he read his boss's caller I.D. He had glanced at Brennan and suggested, "Maybe if I just don't answer . . . " He trailed off as Brennan chastised him with her reproving stare.

With a small grumble of a curse on whomever decided to kill this person, Booth flicked his police lights on and sped in the opposite direction of the Italian restaurant.

This was how Dr. Temperance Brennan ended up crouching over a set of remains, dressed in a low cut dress that made Booth want her to himself even more. Booth hovered at the edges of the crime scene, taking statements as he fought to keep his brooding out of his expressions.

Brennan examined the skull, determining the sex, race, and age.

Booth began talking to the only witness, a man who discovered the body in this backstreet alley.

"And I, I was walkin', and he was, was just there!" the nearly toothless man exclaimed. His light blue eyes, set deep in his aged face, wandered around the scene, continuously watching.

Booth straightened his tie and repressed a groan. His only witness was a homeless man who had happened to have stumbled upon the body during his trash can raid. This man could offer no relevant help to the case, especially due to the fact that this man had a large case of paranoia. His blue, wandering eyes reminded Booth of Hodgins in the early days.

Booth gave this man a nod. "Thank you for your time, Mr. . . "

The man realized Booth was waiting for a name, so he quickly blurted, "Smith!"

Booth gave another nod, knowing instantly that this man wouldn't reveal his legal title. "Is there a place I can reach you, in case we have any more questions?"

Mr. Smith pursed his cracked lips before pulling a tattered business card out of his worn-out blue jeans. "I go here on Tuesday nights."

Booth looked down to see a faded ink logo for Al's Bar. "Thanks."

He turned back to Bones as Mr. Smith walked off. "Got anything?"

She glanced at Booth before looking back at the decomposed skull in her hands. "Female, mid-thirties. She was Caucasian. Time of death is roughly three to four weeks ago."

Booth quickly scribbled the information onto his notepad.

"I'll need her back at—"

"The lab," Booth finished for her with a nod.

Brennan straightened from her crouch. "All of the trash will need to go back to Hodgins."

Booth glanced around the narrow, extensively dark and long alley. Only four dumpsters were visible in sight, but the stench hinted that there were more in the darkness; it seemed the entire block stuffed their dumpster into this abandoned alley way. "All of them?"

Brennan looked up at her partner. "Yes."

"The lab's going to be the height of stench for the week," Booth grumbled, noting to himself to stray away from the lab as much as possible. He then turned and ordered the forensics crew to take all of the garbage back to the Jeffersonian.

Brennan began peeling off her latex gloves when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye; something was sticking out from underneath a dumpster, a little farther into the alley than she was already. She walked towards it, forcing her eyes to discern the object.

As she came nearer, she recognized the object to be a partially decomposed hand.

"Booth!" she called, pushing the dumpster off of the corpse.

Booth looked up from the forensics team and jogged over to meet her. He looked down and recognized what Bones was doing. He began to shove the metal with her, making much more progress than she had been making.

With a final shove, they revealed another body, this one wearing more flesh than the last.

Brennan accepted a flashlight from a nearby forensics technician. She pointed the light onto the remains and began speaking what she saw. "Female, Caucasian. Also mid-thirties. She died about ten to fourteen days ago."

Booth pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled out his cell phone. "Dammit."

"Booth?" Bones questioned his sudden look of melancholy.

"This is looking like the work of a serial killer, Bones," he explained soberly as he walked back towards the first crime scene to report the new information.

The nearby technician began carefully collecting the body, more focused than usual now that the infamously meticulous Dr. Brennan was nearby as they worked.

Brennan sighed as she placed a hand over her growing stomach. Her weekend with Booth had been spoiled, there seemed to be a serial killer on the loose, and she had lately, secretly, been doubting her abilities as a mother. She wanted to hide from the world for a little while, just until these few storms had passed.

Knowing that it was physically improbable and cowardice, she pushed the thoughts aside. Instead, she looked around the alley, pausing when she noticed something else, a little farther down the alley. More despair entered her being. _'Another body?'_ she assumed, knowing that another corpse would lead to the logical conclusion of a serial killer.

She walked towards the ambivalent object, hoping it was only her imagination. She neared closer to it, farther away from the lights, and pulled out the required flashlight to confirm her assumption. After shining the light on the object, Brennan concluded that this was another body protruding from the back of this dumpster.

She opened her mouth to call out for Booth but was stopped before she could. A sharp pain exploded from the top of her head, causing her to collapse out of the hunched position she had been in.

Her cry of pain was heard by Booth. He looked up instantly, gun drawn. He began running down the alley towards the sound.

A man in his late twenties held a metal pipe in the air, preparing to take another swipe at the unresponsive anthropologist.

Fire sparked in Booth's veins, wishing he could shoot this man here and now. Booth instead forced his mouth to command, "Drop the weapon! NOW!"

The attacker looked to Booth, considering his options. The man's dark eyes flickered towards Booth's steady gun barrel before letting the pipe clatter to the ground.

The police officers stationed at the crime scene had heard the commotion and took the opportunity to force the man onto his knees with his hands on his head.

Booth had no care for the man now. His eyes were trained on Brennan as he knelt down next to her. "Bones!" he called frantically, pulling her limp form into his arms. "Can you here me? Bones?"

He checked for a pulse and breathing, grateful to find both. Booth turned towards a police officer and ordered, "Call for an ambulance!"

Booth's voiced pulled Brennan back into a foggy consciousness. "No, I'm fine," she mumbled.

Booth's mouth burst into a smile as he hugged her close. "Thank God. Are you O.K.?"

Brennan attempted to push herself into a sitting position, but the movement was too much for her. She settled back into Booth's arms, trying to control the pain and spinning surrounding her mind.

"Just stay still, O.K.?" he told her, hoping that this was nothing more than a bruise. He glanced at the top of head and grimaced at the sight. Even in the darkness, the moonlight glinted off of the dark wet substance dripping down Brennan's skull.

"The ambulance is on its way," he encouraged his partner. "Just stay with me."

"I _am_ with you," she pointed out through garbled words, taking Booth's expression too literally.

Booth slightly smirked. '_She's never changed_,' he thought to himself.

The ambulance arrived quickly, and the couple sped off to the hospital.

…

_**(3 Hours Later)**_

Booth talked to Brennan's doctor outside of her hospital room. He had left her to rest inside, hoping she would just take it easy for her and the baby's sake.

"We just can't know for certain until the neurologist gets here," Dr. Bielman explained sorrowfully. "Our CAT scanner is down, so it's impossible to say if she has any brain hemorrhaging. Her active responsiveness is a good sign, but head injuries are a tricky thing; they can sneak up on you. Without the neurologist present, we can only assume."

Booth sighed as his hand rubbed over his weary face. "When will the neurologist get here?"

"Tomorrow morning at the earliest," the doctor admitted. A look of irritation flashed across Booth's features, so Dr. Bielman rested his hand on Booth's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Agent Booth. The best we can do is ice her head, give her pain medication, and wait for tomorrow. Shall I set a bed for you to sleep in tonight?"

Brennan appeared at the door of her hospital room, changed back into black dress and out of the hospital gown. "That will be unnecessary, doctor. I will be checking out for the night."

Booth responded with a "No way, Bones" at the same time that Dr. Bielman replied, "I strongly advise against it, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan ignored the doctor altogether, turning to the only person she had to convince that she was alright. "Booth, I feel fine. After all, it's one night; what difference does it make if I spend it sleeping here or at my apartment or in the lab?"

Booth gave her a reproving look for that blow. She knew working would be worse than resting at home, so she used it against him. "Bones—"

"I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning when the neurologist gets her," she interrupted him before he could regain his footing in their conversation. "There's nothing more the doctors can do here tonight." Brennan turned to the doctor again. "Unless your hospital has an EEG or PET scan in supply?"

Dr. Bielman, an aging and bashful man, shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you see, Dr. Brennan, without the neurologist present . . ." He trailed off, hoping he wouldn't have to explain the details of why he couldn't help a patient.

Brennan turned back to Booth, waiting for his side of the argument.

Booth looked between the doctor of the living and the doctor of the dead. He could see Bones's side of the debate, but he felt uncomfortable about taking her away from the hospital without a final verdict.

Brennan saw the hesitation that Booth possessed, so she went in for the kill. "Booth you know how much I dislike hospitals. I would receive a greater amount of rest if I were in a comfortable environment."

Booth continued to reach for a retort but found none. With a sigh, he relented. "Fine, Bones. But we're returning first thing tomorrow morning to see what the neurologist says."

Dr. Bielman sighed. He couldn't force them to stay. "I'll schedule you for an appointment with our head neurologist, Dr. Fidel, for tomorrow morning."

…

It had been a quiet car ride back to Brennan's apartment. Only when they pulled into the parking structure did Booth attempt a real conversation. "You know, Bones, Washington General isn't that far away . . . They could probably give you a CAT scan . . ."

Brennan opened her car door and stepped out before Booth could begin to drive her in the direction of the hospital. "Booth, it's forty minutes away. We already have an appointment with Dr. Fidel for tomorrow morning."

She turned on her aching feet, sore from being cramped in stilettos for an extended period of time, and walked into the elevator with Booth on her heels.

"I know, Bones, but I can't help but try to get you and Seeley Jr. some more treatment."

The elevator doors closed and Brennan looked up at her partner with an amused expression. "Seeley Jr.? What if our child is female?"

A Seeley Booth smile broke out across his face for the second time that night; he had anticipated this question. "Cecilia."

Brennan's mouth fell into a small smile as the elevator doors broke open. The two stepped out and began walking towards their apartment as Brennan stated, "It seems very logical that an alpha male would attempt to name his offspring after himself. It's a way to assert himself and territorialize his offspring."

Brennan turned the key into her apartment and opened the door as Booth grimaced. "Aw, come one. You make it sound like I'm going to start peeing all over stuff to 'mark my territory.'" He used air quotes for the last bit before closing the door behind him.

Brennan led him to the bedroom, calling, "In most male species, that action is very common."

She sat on the bed and began peeling off her shoes from her throbbing feet. Booth knelt down in front of her, his tie undone and draped around his neck as a part of the remains from tonight's disaster of events.

"Look, I just want you to be safe," Booth corrected their strayed conversation.

"I am safe," Brennan stated.

"And O.K."

"I _am_ O.K."

Booth rested his hands on either side of Brennan's four months pregnant belly before kissing it softly. "And our baby to safe and O.K.," he whispered against the fabric of her dress.

Brennan smiled at tender affection Booth was demonstrating. She ran her fingers through his hair and murmured, "They are."

Booth stared at her lovingly, and Brennan returned the look. "I must say that I am feeling a large amount of affection towards you right now, Booth."

He grinned and rose to her eye level. "You love me, Temperance Brennan?"

Brennan grinned back as she slowly laid her back against the bed, her feet remaining grounded on the floor. "Or it's the pain medication."

Booth hovered over her and shrugged. "Or it's love." He pushed away the brown hair that began straying into her face, the face belonging to the one he would do anything for.

Temptation became too much for them by then, and they both leaned in to meet in a kiss. Booth began exploring Brennan's mouth with his own, but then broke the deep kiss to suck at the nape of her neck. Brennan closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations he was arousing. A few moments later, Booth set a line of fire back up her neck as he kissed his way back to her mouth again.

After a few more moments, the couple began to pull at one another's clothing. Booth's tie began to fall to the floor, followed next by his black coat. But when Booth began pulling at the hems of Brennan's dress, her hands gently stopped his roaming ones.

"Not tonight," she reminded him through labored breathing. "The doctor said no physical activity until we talk to the neurologist."

Booth released her dress reluctantly and fell onto the bed beside her. "Right."

They both laid there for a few moments, catching their breath as they envisioned cold showers.

After they performed their nightly routines, Brennan crawled into bed and laid on her side, quickly followed by her love and partner. Booth wrapped his arms around his love and kissed her cheek before settling next to her.

The couple laid in silence, collecting their scattered thoughts for the day. Well, at least Booth was. Brennan's thoughts were on something else altogether.

"Do you think I'm going to be a good mom?" she whispered the dreaded words. They had been haunting her ever since she found out that she was pregnant, threatening to reveal that she could never possess motherly qualities.

The question took the exhausted Booth by surprise. "What? You're gonna be a great mom, Bones! Why would you even doubt that?"

Brennan, still turned away from Booth's sight, wiped a tear that had leaked out of the corner of her eyes. "What if they don't like me?"

"Woah, Bones. If there's one thing—O.K., two things—I know in this world, it's that you'll be a great mom to a kid that will _love_ you."

Although logically Booth's reassurances should have no effect on Brennan, they comforted her. They were words that she needed to hear, and it was the love of her life that had spoken them. Despite all that had happened that day, it felt like everything in her life was golden at that very moment, that everything was right.

"What's the other thing?" she asked drowsily.

Booth leaned in closer to her ear and whispered, "That I love you."

His words were overused and the very definition of cliché, but Brennan felt the love radiating all the same.

"I love you, too," she whispered back. She gently placed a hand over abdomen, Booth's hand following hers. Together, they held the life they had created under the very palms of their hands. "And we love you," she whispered to the growing baby.

Booth kissed her cheek again as the drowsiness overwhelmed them both.

In that moment, life was bliss. Life was all they strived for it to be. Perhaps their complete and utter happiness was what caused their lives to change. Brennan might have applied it to Newton's third law: every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. Booth would have called that external force Fate.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed it! This was the fluff that I love to help me through the hard times in the rest of the story. ;) (Which will begin in the next chapter.) The circumstances of the story may be a tad unrealistic, but, hey, it is fiction. Why not create something with it? :) I will attempt to make this story as realistic as possible though. (No red, sparkly dragons will come flying in to have a tea party with Angela, I swear.)**

**Thanks for reading, and I apologize if anything is inaccurate, grammatically incorrect, offensive, or plain just too unrealistic. It was, indeed, mine own doing.**

** All responses are greatly welcomed! I'm a little wary on if anyone likes it, so I want some responses to know if I should continue posting. (Sorry, I sound desperate for reviews, but I'm honestly just unsure.)**


	2. The Amnesia in the Anthropologist

**You guys are great! =D I was surprised at how many alerts I got for this story, especially all of the favorites, after the first chapter alone! Thank you for them, as well as the reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

"_**Everybody needs his memories. **_

_**They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door."**_

_**-Saul Bellow**_

**Chapter Two. The Amnesia in the Anthropologist.**

Brennan woke up at seven without the need of an alarm clock, something that seemed to be programmed into her brain. The sunlight radiated through the window of her apartment, and Brennan found that she enjoyed the warmth on her skin. She missed the feeling of having a soothing heat upon her skin; It felt as if she hadn't held someone dear to her heart in so long.

She looked up at the bookcase in front of her large bed, a bed larger than she remembered it being. A look of confusion crossed her features. When had that bookcase gotten there? The only bookcase she remembered having was the one next to her office, just down the hall. But this wasn't how she remembered her apartment.

Something stirred next to her. Brennan instantly froze, realizing she was not alone. Slowly, she turned to her left. Lying next to her, blissfully dozing, was a man she barely recognized. She couldn't exactly recall where she had seen him before, but she didn't have the time to think it over. In the next moment, she was shrieking and leaping out of the warm bed.

Brennan's shrieks jolted life into Booth. He sprang for the gun resting on his nightstand, ready to fight the attacker. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking around for the source of Brennan's panic, not realizing he was the cause.

Brennan fled the room as soon as he grabbed the gun. She ran out into the hall and continued forward until she entered the kitchen. With a backward glance, she saw that Booth was right behind her. In a panic, she grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen counter and held it out in front of her, threatening Booth.

Booth, more confused and worried than ever, held his hands away from him but continued to loosely grasp the weapon in his hand. "Bones! What's going on?"

Brennan didn't want him near her. She didn't even remember how he got here! He could be a stalker for all she knew. She swung the frying pan at her partner. "Get out! I'll call the cops!"

Booth stared at her, puzzled as to why she was acting this way. "Bones, what are you talking about?"

"GET OUT!" she yelled, gathering the courage she had reinforced over the past fifteen years.

"Bones—" Booth began to plead again. But Brennan refused to listen; instead, she swung the pan at Booth frantically. Booth began backing up, trying to dodge, but not fight, her blows. She backed him up against the door when he used her nickname again, a last attempt to reason with her.

Brennan swiped past him and opened the door. "Get out!" she commanded for the final time.

Booth stared at her, remaining where he was. He didn't want to leave Brennan in this state.

As a result, Brennan swung the pan again, nailing him in the face. It took him by surprise, therefore sending him stumbling as he cradled his bleeding nose. He stumbled just enough out the open door to where Brennan was able to slam the door shut and lock it.

"Temperance!" he called through the door, hoping the name she was raised in would trigger her back to a more sane state of mind. He waited a couple of seconds for her to say something back, but he was only slapped in the face with silence. He brought his fist on the door and shouted her name again.

Brennan waited silently on the inside of the apartment, trying to figure out what she would do. She jumped when Booth pounded against the door, backing up away from it when he continued.

She looked around the apartment, feeling foolish. Who was to say this was even her apartment? There were some artifacts and pictures she remembered having, but some of the objects were unfamiliar, not to mention the fact that she didn't even remember buying this apartment. Perhaps that man was a stalker, and he had collected some of her belongings for his own personal shrine. Either way, she felt like she needed to get away from this place.

Booth continued calling for her through the door as she set down the frying pan and silently made her way down the fire escape.

Brennan then looked around, trying to get her bearings. She thought she recognized the area but wasn't completely sure. She walked towards the edge of the sidewalk, still clad in a large t-shirt and pajama pants, and hailed a taxi. The yellow cab came towards her and allowed her to enter.

She sank into the filthy cushions, her heart still pounding in her ears.

"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked.

Brennan floundered for a minute, unsure of where she should go. "The Jeffersonian," she found herself saying.

The driver nodded, knowing the short route.

As the taxi sped off, Brennan looked out the back window to see the man she had woken up to frantically looking around for her. He stopped an elderly man passing by, hoping he had seen this woman. Brennan saw the man shake his aged head, and Booth's expression lose that sliver of hope before the cab turned the corner of the street.

…

She had quietly entered the Jeffersonian just like any other day, but was unable to go to the platform; her badge and work attire had been left at her apartment which was, little known to her, seven years in the past.

Brennan now sat at her desk with her aching head in her hand. She had been on the phone with the police for half of an hour now, getting nowhere slowly.

"No, I don't know his name," she repeated to another officer. "I woke up in his apartment. I think he kidnapped me." _'But what kind of kidnapper dresses their victim in pajamas?' _she thought to herself.

"You're just going to have to come in and fill out a report like everyone else, ma'am," the officer told her in a monotone voice. He sounded like he hadn't received his morning coffee. The other officers had been worried for her story at first, but when she could offer no fine details, they passed her on to another unlucky officer.

Brennan sighed and hung up. As she rose, she had to push herself out of her seat with the use of her arms. _'That's odd,'_ she thought. _'I must have been gaining weight without realizing it.'_

She left and went to the police station, not daring to try to go back to her apartment and change first.

…

"And your name is . . ." the police officer questioned.

Brennan had been escorted into an interrogation room to give her official statement. She felt a little ridiculous being there in pajamas, but wanted that man to rot in jail before she dared to venture home again. Brennan had always found fans of hers to be annoying and unnecessary; she already knew that she was a brilliant and talented anthropologist.

"Doctor Temperance Brennan," she stated. "I'm an anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institution."

"And what happened to you last night, ma'am?" the man asked, writing the information down.

"I can't remember exactly, but I remember waking up this morning in some man's bed," she explained.

The police officer raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, and Brennan stared back evenly. The officer, Officer Rodriguez, then cleared his throat and straightened his tie before continuing. "Ma'am, did you have anything to drink last night?"

"If you're implying alcohol, the answer is no," she quipped, "and I'd appreciate it if you stopped calling me 'ma'am.' I'm only twenty-eight."

Officer Rodriguez opened her file and glanced at it. "Your record states that you are thirty-four."

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "Then your record is incorrect. I think I know how old I am."

He shut the file and turned back to the witness. "Alright. Why don't you tell me about this man: Did he harm you in any way?"

"No," she answered honestly, "but I was kidnapped. He may have harmed me before I became conscious."

Before the officer could ask her another question, the door to the interrogation room swung open, revealing a distraught and disheveled Booth. He had a wrinkled work suit thrown on, his abnormally plain tie not properly tied.

"Bones!" He breathed a sigh of relief as he took a step towards her.

Brennan rose from her seat despite the officer and steel table that separated the couple. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "That's him! He's the one who kidnapped me!"

Officer Rodriguez stood up but made no move to arrest Booth.

Booth sighed and flashed the officer his badge. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth of the F.B.I. Last night Dr. Brennan and I were visiting a crime scene when she was struck with a metal pipe. It appears to have caused some lack of memory."

Brennan stared at him, not wanting to believe it. She, a woman so used to control, found it more than uncomfortable to think that she couldn't remember her life; she found it nearly impossible.

But the fact that it seemed more probable than impossible frightened her. It made sense; it explained why everything seemed to have changed. Cell phones seemed to have upgraded over night, her age had increased without her knowledge, her midsection had mysteriously grown in a matter of what seemed to be twelve hours, and her head had been throbbing all morning. "I have amnesia," she stated, a question still lining her voice despite the logic the conclusion made.

Booth sighed and turned toward her. "Or something like it."

The three stood in an impromptu moment of silence, none able to speak. Officer Rodriguez broke it by quietly announcing, "I'll dismiss your police report."

Brennan nodded, not really paying attention to him.

"Can I take you to the hospital?" Booth asked her, feeling a little silly for having to ask his partner so formally.

Brennan nodded and brushed her hair away from her face. She walked towards him, but stayed far enough away so they wouldn't touch. Booth walked her to his SUV, all the same.

Once in the car, Booth began dismissing a few BOLOs that had been put out for Dr. Brennan.

Brennan sat in silence, hoping that she would just wake up from this nightmare. She should be in Guatemala, identifying sets upon sets of ambiguous skeletal remains; it was what she last truly remembered. Instead, she was in a car with an F.B.I. agent that she hardly knew, apparently having skipped seven years into the future.

"Booth," she stated, the name ringing a faint bell.

"Yeah?" he turned silently towards her, hoping that she was miraculously beginning to remember.

"Your name sounds familiar," she murmured, trying hard to bring the memories to surface. In a sudden flash, she did. With distaste in her tone, she recalled, "You're Booth, the F.B.I. agent who got me drunk to fire me, then hired me back the next day."

The images of their first case, their perfectly wretched case that had sparked their relationship, were all she could remember of Booth.

Brennan looked out her window. "I know how to get to the hospital from here. Let me out."

"Look, Bones," Booth pleaded, "I just want to get you to the hospital—"

She turned to him. "If you drive another block, I'm screaming 'kidnap' out the window."

Booth recognized those exact words to be the ones she had used so many years before when he tried driving her to the lab. The words were like a blow, echoing a pain that chanted that she couldn't remember their moments together.

Brennan stared at Booth with a challenging stare. She didn't care what the words truly meant to Booth; in her mind, they held no significance other than wanting to get out of the car.

Booth turned his stare back to the road. "I'm just going to take you back to the hospital," he calmly and firmly stated.

In the life that she had been leading, Brennan would have been worried that she had done something wrong, causing Booth to react so unhappily. But this Brennan was still hardened; she had built up immunity to irrational emotions and, therefore, had lost her ability to communicate emotionally once again.

**A little slow towards the end, but I had to write in the initial reactions of Brennan. =) In the next chapter, I'll be writing their visit to the hospital and, hopefully, I'll finally write in the other characters. The story's going to soon be focusing on other aspects too since the plot has now been established. =)**

**Hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought.**


	3. The Changes over the Years

**So sorry! I wrote this chapter a week ago, but it was sloppy and, quite frankly, boring. After fiddling with it, I finally just started over from scratch. In my opinion, this version turned out much better. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Three. The Changes over the Years**

"_**All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; **_

_**for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; **_

_**we must die to one life before we can enter another."**_

_**- Anatole France**_

Amnesia. That was the diagnosis the doctors had given Temperance. It was just as obvious as it was incurable.

"You would have benefitted, had you stayed in the hospital overnight, Dr. Brennan," Dr. Fidel informed the lost woman sitting in the chair by his desk. "We could have calmed you and reduced the anxiety you were forced to experience this morning."

Booth, who had been silently standing by the door, waved a hand over his weary face. Would have, could have; if only he had ignored her pleas to leave the hospital last night, she would be in a better condition. If only he hadn't driven her to the crime scene last night, she wouldn't be in this state of mind. If only he hadn't left her alone in that alley, she would be well. 'If only's circled Booth's mind, nauseating him with all of the precautions he had ignored.

But Brennan recalled none of last night, nor the seven years prior. What had happened to her the night before didn't provide much worry for her now; to her, it seemed as if she was continuing the life she had always been leading. The only difference was that the F.B.I. agent had returned with a stronger attachment to her than she remembered him having.

"What should we do now, doc?" Booth questioned the neurologist.

Dr. Fidel leaned against his desk and offered his hands up in an empty surrender. "As of now, there's not much we can do. We did a CAT scan and a PET scan, but both revealed no signs of brain hemorrhaging. We can prescribe pain medication for the injury itself, but there's really no way to cure amnesia."

Brennan rose to her feet, slightly using the chair for support in rising. "Thank you, Dr. Fidel. I'll call you if anything else arises."

Before the neurologist could offer any more advice on her condition, Brennan turned on her heel and marched out of Fidel's office.

"Thanks, doc," Booth mentioned quickly before hurrying to catch up to Bones.

"Bones!" he called as she strode out of the hospital's automatic doors. "Wait up!"

Brennan slowed marginally but only stopped when she reached the edge of the street. She was hailing a taxi towards her when Booth rejoined her side.

"Don't call me Bones," she reminded him for what seemed the millionth time. She was getting impatient that he hadn't learned to stop using the nickname after these supposedly seven years. Brennan couldn't decide if he was incompetent, arrogant, or both.

Like always, Booth ignored her request. "Where are you going?"

Brennan was about to snap a witty reply back at him but stopped short. "Do I still work at the lab?" she asked a little grudgingly. She hated depending on others.

Booth, being the alpha male he was, was only too helpful. "The Jeffersonian? Yeah. I doubt any amount of time would get you to leave the lab."

Brennan raised any eyebrow at him, challenging him to find the obvious, before ducking in the cab.

Booth rolled his eyes. Of course, Brennan would take the first opportunity she could to return to the Jeffersonian.

He bowed down into the cab and slid onto the seat next to her.

"Jeffersonian," she informed the taxi driver as Booth closed the door.

The cab pulled away from the hospital, and Booth turned to stare at his partner. She stared pointedly at the seat in front of her.

"Bones, you have amnesia," Booth unnecessarily reminded her. "You just got out of the hospital today! Just rest for the day. Take it easy."

Brennan continued to maintain her eyes on the back of the head rest in front of her. "Booth, the Jeffersonian is where I have spent the majority of my current career. I'm not exactly certain what it's like now, but I can assure you that before you came along, I spent more hours at the lab than I did at my apartment."

"Bones," Booth tried to convince her. "Look at me."

Brennan relented and looked at him, a faint bemusement shining in her eyes. She was slightly enjoying seeing this man who had betrayed her grovel while she was able to ignore him.

"There are things I need to tell you," he admitted.

She stared back at him coolly. "Such as?"

"What's been going on in your life for the past seven years!" he nearly exclaimed, exasperated with this whole morning. How was he going to explain to his girlfriend that she was pregnant? Why, after years of helping people, did they deserve a fate so cruel and unusual?

The taxi suddenly pulled up to the Jeffersonian, and Brennan took this opportunity to exit. "What would really help me is if you paid for my cab fair." She slammed the door on him, not actually giving him an option, before walking around the cab to the entrance.

Booth quickly fished his wallet out of his pocket and paid the driver. After hastily stuffing the wallet back, he pushed out of the car and hurried to catch up with Brennan.

"Bones, just slow down," he begged, holding his hands up in a calming manner.

Brennan pointed her finger at him as they crossed through the entrance to the lab. "Booth, I appreciate your gestures to help me, but I can continue on without you." She turned away from him, back towards her office where she would hopefully have an extra pair of clothes stashed. She felt ludicrous walking around her pajamas.

When she made this move, Booth fought to mask the pain he felt. Her words were like unintentional knives, slicing away at his flesh as she continued on ignorantly. Booth had forgotten just how hard Brennan's shell was when they first met.

Brennan turned into her office and paused for a moment, taking it in. Things had been replaced, removed, rearranged, and added. Forgotten memories were held in picture frames that lined her desk, but Brennan forced herself to ignore the changes; she would change out of her pajamas and then deal with her condition once Booth left her alone. That was the way to which she was accustomed: face everything individually and alone.

As Brennan searched her desk drawers for an extra pair of clothes, Booth let himself into her office. "Bones, would you just stand still for one second?"

Brennan looked up at him but didn't bother to answer as she continued to look through her cabinets.

Booth walked up to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She shrank away from his touch but then continued searching as if nothing had happened.

"Bones, just sit down," he commanded, needing her to understand some key points that had changed in the past seven years.

Brennan, finally growing impatient at his constant nagging, slammed the paper filled drawer shut and met his frustrated brown eyes. "Tell me what you want me to know," she demanded abruptly.

Booth blinked at her, a little surprised at her sudden reaction. Gently, he guided her to her couch and sat her down. He sat next to her, resisting the urge to hold her hand or reach out to her. "Zack got sent to a mental asylum after he helped out a cannibal."

Brennan had thought that Booth was exaggerating the changes. She thought he would say something along the lines of she got a promotion. The fact that Zack was gone, and had been for who knows how long, caught her surprise like a punch to the gut. By acquired instinct, she forced the feelings she felt aside; emotions could offer no value to rational thought processes.

"When did he leave?" she requested.

"Three years ago," he answered. "He was a good kid." Memories of Zack floated back to Booth's mind. Booth had been hoping to visit the kid sometime soon. Maybe taking Bones to visit him would benefit all three of them.

Brennan gave a nod. "Dr. Addey was an excellent assistant and will be missed. Thank you for telling me, Booth. Now if you'd please, I have to—"

Booth shook his head, mounting up to the larger stones he had to throw. "Hold on, Bones. There's more."

Brennan, a little wary to find out any other news, swallowed and waited.

Booth smiled a little at the next piece of news. "Angela and Hodgins got married. They had a baby a few months ago. His name's Michael."

Brennan was happy for her coworkers, but was more surprised than anything. Her memories of Angela suggested she'd never truly settle down, nor Hodgins.

Booth sighed for the next piece of news. "And your parents-"

This instantly caught Brennan's attention. As far as she knew, only a handful of people knew the details of her childhood. Had the past seven years changed that? "My parents? Did you find them?"

Booth gave a reluctant nod. "Uh, yeah, Bones. We found 'em. But . . . only your dad was found alive."

Brennan fought against the emotions stirring inside of her. "What happened to my mother?"

Booth restrained his urges to shut up and hold his Bones against him. He hated delivering such terrible news, to a loved one, nonetheless. But he had begun, and Brennan deserved a right more than anyone to know about her life. "She was murdered. We got the guy who killed her, but she died years before she was found."

"What happened to my father?" she asked. "Has he been kidnapped all these years?"

This was a question Booth was not ready to dive into just yet. It would require Brennan to know of the betrayal and heartbreak that her family had inflicted, despite their best intentions. He wouldn't send Brennan through that so soon. "I think he should tell you."

Brennan rose to her feet, her family's history overwhelming her mind. She needed to know what happened, just as she needed to know six years ago.

Booth jumped to his feet with her. "Bones, wait—"

She paused momentarily, ready to make her first stride. "What?"

"There's something else you need to know."

Brennan waited patiently as Booth gathered the words to deliver the news in such an unconventional manner. "You're . . . pregnant."

Brennan froze, never having been so still before. "Who's the father?"

Booth took a step towards her, hoping she would remember before he had to tell her. "Me."

In a sudden flash, images of the Booth with her flashed through Brennan's mind. She suddenly remembered them laughing over pie at the Royal Diner, holding a brainy Smurf in her hand, and drinking shots with Booth after a hard case.

Booth saw the frightened confusion rush through Brennan's eyes so he instinctively placed his hand on her arms. "Bones? Are you O.K.?"

Brennan remembered Booth holding her in his arms when he was broken. She had been kidnapped . . . the details were fuzzy. But she remembered Booth bursting in, shooting a man in the shoulder, and then saving her.

"Bones?"

Brennan snapped back into the present to see Booth's anxious brown eyes staring into hers. She shook her muddled thoughts away for the moment and slid out of Booth's reach. "Excuse me," she mumbled as she quickly walked away.

Booth hurried to follow her for another time that day. Even when she ducked into the lady's room, he considered chasing after her. He stopped himself, and instead made his way to find Angela.

Brennan locked the door and then checked every stall, making sure she was truly alone. Once she found that she was, she leaned against the wall, sliding down to the ground.

Pregnant. The word infested her mind. It was like bacteria, infecting and multiplying throughout her brain until all she could think of was the all-too-real reality. She was due to be a mother in . . . God knows how long! She wanted to slap herself for not realizing it earlier this morning. She supposed it was just the fact that she knew she would never be a mother. She assumed that a mere seven years wouldn't change that. It seems these past seven years changed her mindset, along with every other aspect of her life.

**Wow. Writing this makes me realize how much these characters have truly changed over the course of the show.**

**In other news, I hope you liked it. It's a big change from my last angsty story, but this story will start to heat up a little more as Brennan gets reacquainted with herself. **

**Reviews are gorgeous! And if anyone has any suggestions for what they think should happen in this story, PLEASE let me know! (I suffered from some writers block this past week.) Thanks! :)**


	4. The Snippets from the Past

**Sorry for the delay! I didn't start this chapter for a while, and it was extended, making it take longer than planned. Enjoy, and thanks for all of your wonderful responses!**

**Chapter 4. The Snippets from the Past**

"_**Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start**_

_**When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!"**_

_**-Eliza Cook**_

A knock came to the bathroom door.

"Sweetie?" Angela's tentative voice filtered in through the door. "Are you in there?"

Brennan straightened from the crouch she had been in and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She walked towards the door and opened it, revealing the face of a friend she truly remembered.

"Ange," Brennan breathed, pulling her friend into a hug.

Angela smiled and hugged her best friend back. "God! Are you O.K.?" Her expression became concerned as she stepped into the bathroom with Brennan. "Booth said to try to keep you calm with the whole brain injury thing, but I need the truth. How are you? Are feeling like a total blast from the past?

"And I can't believe you didn't call me last night! I mean, I guess you can't remember that now, but, honestly, your best friend needs a call during these kinds of things."

Brennan gave a half smile. It was so beautifully refreshing to see that one aspect of her life hadn't changed. Angela was her constant, reminding her that she hadn't just crossed into an alternate universe. Although science had yet to progress to such a degree, Brennan was irrationally beginning to believe she had indeed travelled to some other universe.

Brennan, although nearly overjoyed to recognize her friend, did her best to keep a cool demeanor. "I have amnesia, due to the fact that part of my hippocampus was injured last night. Booth told me that someone struck me from behind, but I don't remember." She scoffed at herself for being so repetitive. "Which would be obvious since I have amnesia."

Angela gave her friend a supporting smile and squeezed her arm. "Brennan, if there was one person that I believed could handle going through something like this, it would be you."

Brennan gave her a doubtful look. "How could you know that? You'd have to thoroughly assess everyone you know, which would require a lot of time and thought processing—"

"I know," Angela assured her, staring at her with a convinced look. "I know you. You'll be fine."

Brennan didn't really know if she believed her. She partly wanted to. She wanted to believe that she could just easily fight through this, but life seemed so hard. She wanted to think of the odds, run her own diagnostic, decide what was the next metaphorical step from here, but her head hurt and the odds scared her. So instead of thinking everything through, she believed her friend.

"Put your heart into gear," Brennan found herself whispering aloud.

"What?" Angela asked, confused with Brennan's seemingly random phrase.

"I… I can't remember what he was referring to, but I remember Booth telling me that once," she murmured absentmindedly, wracking her genius brain for the memories that were hidden from her. But every time she reached for a memory, it skirted away from her. It was like trying to recall a dream or a wayward thought; the more she tried to remember, the more she couldn't.

"Well, that's a good sign! Right?" Angela encouraged. "Maybe you're just remembering little pieces at a time."

Brennan gave a nod as she drew in a shaky breath. "It is a positive indicator that I am still able to recall some things, but all I really remember from the past seven years is that pointless quote."

The recently recalled images of Booth flashed through her mind again. '_And those_,' she amended mentally. Whatever those were. Memories or dreams or… whatever the hell those were.

"You've gotta start somewhere," Angela spoke, giving her a knowing smile.

Brennan gave a nod, trying to stray away from the images in her mind; they were making her head ache. "I heard that you had a baby," Brennan revealed, trying to think of something else than her present state of mind. "You married Hodgins?"

Angela laughed at the confusion that leaked into Brennan's tone, questioning their relationship. "Yeah, I did. We got married in a jail, of all places. Not exactly Paris, but we traveled there, too." She smiled, remembering the good times she had with her husband.

"Jack finally got over his anger issues, and we got married years after. It was an on-again, off-again, constantly spinning machine of relationship before we finally just made it a legal marriage." Her expression glowed as she explained all that she had gained in the last few years. "We had the baby a few months ago. His name's Michael."

Brennan laughed quietly to herself. "Honestly, I thought that you would never settle down, nor start a family." She looked down at her own expanding abdomen. "But I never thought I would either. Children have a large tendency to complain, demand, think irrationally, and make large messes."

Angela laughed. "But they're so fun! They just want to play and laugh and pretend to be princesses or super heroes. They're brutally honest and love everything except vegetables. Yeah, they spit up on you, cry through the night, and make you their personal chauffeur, but they're worth every moment."

Brennan still felt worried about expecting a child of her own so suddenly. She gave Angela a slightly doubting look. "It's highly probable that your maternal instincts are making you biased."

Angela smiled. "Yeah, it's highly probable. But it's also true."

Brennan took a deep breath, trying to think about her future clearly. She didn't know if she would consider adoption. After all, it was supposedly Booth's child, too. She knew that she would need to talk to him about it. It seemed that he knew more about her than she did these days.

"Where's Booth?" Brennan asked.

"He went to talk to that bastard who hit you last night," Angela muttered with a grimace. "I hope Booth goes all bad-cop on his ass."

Brennan sighed, deciding to deal with the present moment, rather than continue to contemplate her confusing past and future. "When you see him, could you ask him to come see me?"

Angela smiled, hoping that her friend would fall back in love with him a whole lot faster than it took her the first time. "Sure, sweetie. What are you going to do?"

Brennan opened the door of the bathroom, preparing to start her day. "I'm going to get back to work," she answered before turning and letting the door close behind her.

Angela looked heavenward, as if asking God for help. "Of course, you are."

After Brennan changed into a set of work clothes in her office, she twisted her hair into a casual ponytail and set off to work.

She chose to look through limbo and categorize those sets of remains. After all, it wasn't as if she could ask for a case; she didn't even know if Dr. Goodman was still the head of the Jeffersonian anymore. She didn't know much about her life anymore. So, instead, she hid out in the enormous room, busying herself with the thousands of remains.

She had been working for a good five hours before anyone dared to approach her. A tan woman with short, dark hair walked up to her, dressed in professional attire. "Hello, Dr. Brennan." The woman stuck out her hand for Brennan to shake. "I'm Dr. Camille Saroyan. I'm the new head of the department."

'_Dr. Goodman is gone, then_,' Brennan thought to herself, shaking Cam's hand.

"How long have you been working in this position?" Brennan asked her superior.

Cam briefly thought it over. "About five and half years. Give or take a couple of months."

Brennan gave a nod, now knowing that the introduction was purely for her benefit. Cam had known her for years now.

"I ran into you in the F.B.I.'s elevator once, though," Cam suggested the memory, slightly hoping that it would trigger a dim recollection. "It was about seven years ago."

Brennan thought about it, but became disappointed and annoyed when she recalled nothing of this woman. She shifted her irritation back towards Cam. "I see thousands of people a day. It's highly unlikely that I would remember a stranger a passed in the Hoover building."

Cam gave a nod. She had forgotten how bitter Dr. Brennan used to be. "I just thought I'd introduce myself again. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

She turned on her heel and began marching away, back towards the door. Once she reached the exit, she paused and turned back towards Brennan. "You know, you don't have to stay and work. You can have the rest of the week off because of… what happened."

Brennan gave a nod. "I… I'm not sure where I would go from here. I'd prefer to stay." Brennan's tone was calm and analytical, but Cam didn't miss the small bit of helplessness that rose behind her words. Cam wondered if this was what Brennan was like, back when she lost her parents and her entire childhood. It was sort of like that again, an unfair life. No one deserved losing their life once, let alone twice.

Cam just gave a nod. "Stay for however long you'd like." She turned and walked out the door, wishing she could offer something more to Brennan.

As Brennan recorded the markers on the bones laid out in front of her, she replayed Cam's face in her head again, wishing she could just remember everything.

Flashes. Random, misplaced images of Camille ran through Brennan's head, making her mind swirl nauseatingly. She held her head in her head, trying to calm her brain. Cam felt familiar, but… distant. She felt like she knew her, but couldn't recall details. It was truly irritating.

Brennan took a deep breath and returned to her work. She would just ignore her own life for the time being.

Three hours after that, Booth arrived at the entrance of Limbo. His hair had lost its typically groomed quality, and his clothes had grown wrinkled and disheveled during the course of the day. He had tracked lead after lead, trying to find out the motives of the man that had struck Brennan, only to come up with the silent suspect he started out with. The man had refused to talk, no matter the threat or plead, aggravating Booth more than ever. There were just no leads other than the bodies. It was truly too bad that the Jeffersonian and F.B.I. were lacking their forensic anthropologist. It was truly too bad that everyone was in lack of Temperance Brennan.

"Bones," Booth called, marching down the stairs. "Why are working down here? I thought Angela was going to take you home." At least, that was what Booth had asked Angela to do.

Brennan looked up at him, feeling a little anxious and excited upon his return. She found that she… she missed him. "I felt more comfortable working. Besides, I can't even recall where I live."

Booth leaned against the table that Brennan had stationed herself at. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Brennan paused for a moment, contemplating the offer. After a moment of thought, she peeled off her latex gloves and threw them in the trash. "That would be… very helpful to me. Thank you."

He waited and let her lead him up the stairs, resisting placing his hand on the small of her back; he still remembered her shrinking away from his touch earlier this morning.

"Well, I left my toothbrush at your place so I think picking it up would be helpful to all those I come in contact with," he tried to lighten the opaque mood.

He drove her to the apartment that they had shared for the past three months. He would sleep at his office in the Hoover until he found a place to settle. That was what he had decided during the course of his day. He didn't want to start believing she would regain her memories so soon. Besides, even if she did, who was to say that he would still be welcomed back?

Brennan stepped into the apartment, looking around. Booth's socks were scrunched under the coffee table, and his extra pair of shoes was at the door. She recognized that their relationship used to be past the point of just a toothbrush at the other's apartment.

"Back there's your bedroom," Booth told her, pointing towards the hallway.

Brennan gave a nod, remembering the place from when she had woken up. She looked up at Booth, finally taking the time to see him. His nose was bruised from this morning, and his face was etched with the worry and grief he had experienced throughout the day.

"I apologize about your nose," Brennan admitted, gesturing towards him. "I wasn't aware of who you were at that moment."

"No, no," he shooed her apologies away. "I understand. I don't blame you." Even though he said the words, there was still some bitterness behind the words. Not bitterness at Brennan for smacking him with a frying pan, but bitterness at this whole messy situation.

Brennan felt it, too.

Rather than awkwardly standing by the door with Booth, she sat down on the couch. Booth didn't follow, unsure if he should. "Come sit down," she invited, not wanting him to go just yet.

Booth pulled his fists from out of his pockets and took a seat on the couch, about a foot and a half away from Brennan. "Thanks."

The two sat there, not really knowing what to say.

Brennan broke the silence with the first thing she could think of. "Did you talk to that man? The man that hit me with a pipe?"

Booth grimaced slightly. "Yeah. He got us nowhere. Wouldn't talk."

Brennan smirked. "Aren't there interrogation techniques for that?"

Booth half smiled. "Yeah. They didn't work."

Brennan nodded, not sure what to say next. She had never been good with small talk nor any other personal conversations, for that matter.

So instead of speaking, she rose to her feet. "Do you want a drink?"

As she walked into the kitchen, Booth stood also. "No, that's O.K. I'd better get home soon."

Brennan had been searching her cabinets for glasses but stopped when he declined. "I suppose I can't either." She looked towards her stomach, and Booth's eyes followed her own.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Brennan had been running different scenarios in her head, wondering how she would bring up the pregnancy, and now it was out in the open.

"How are you with the pregnancy?" Booth asked, not sure what else to really say about it.

She took a deep breath. "My physical health is very well. The fetus has grown exceptionally during these past few months." She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'baby.' It felt like saying that word aloud would somehow finalize it and force it to register in her brain. Instead, she distanced herself from the reality of the situation by using the scientific term for her child.

Booth nodded, unconsciously growing a smile on his face as he thought of his coming child. "We don't know if it's a boy or girl yet. We were waiting to find out."

Suddenly, Brennan was pulled into a memory.

_Brennan was lying in bed, hand resting on her abdomen. Booth was lying beside her, turned on his side so that he could look at her as they spoke._

_ "Do you know what it is yet?" Booth asked with a bright smile, hoping to find out whether his Seeley Jr. or Cecilia was coming. Brennan had just visited her OBGYN that day, and Booth slightly suspected that she had secretly found out the sex of their baby._

_ But Bones didn't understand the question. She gave him a confused look and answered simply, "It's a baby, Booth."_

_ "Well, yeah," Booth agreed, pulling himself into a sitting position as he grew more excited with their conversation, "but is it a boy or a girl?"_

_ "I haven't found out yet," she answered. "It's still too early in the pregnancy."_

_ "Just think, Bones," Booth requested, waving his arms for emphasis. "Clear your mind. With your mom senses, are you feeling that they'll be a boy or a girl?"_

_ Bones stared at him, not sure if he was being serious. "Booth, I am incapable of knowing the gender of my child, despite the fact they're growing inside of me. It isn't a superpower."_

_ Booth tried not to let his small, crushed hope show on his face. He wanted to know so badly. "Fine, then. If you had to guess, what would it be?"_

_ "Booth, guessing will not provide anymore of an answer," she reminded him. "I might as well flip a coin for a conclusion."_

_ Booth smiled. "O.K., if you had to pick, do you want to give birth to a son or a daughter?"_

_ That made Bones pause. "A daughter."_

_ Booth grinned, having expected that she would come up with another way to dodge the question. "And why would that be?"_

_ "Although both genders for a child appeal to any mother, myself included," she explained, "I believe I would enjoy raising a female as I exposed her to the many female scientists, such as myself."_

_ Booth snorted. "No. Our daughter is not being sent off to every science camp that rolls by."_

_ "Science is a beautiful thing!" she protested. "As our daughter grows, I will be exposing her to the many sciences!"_

_ Booth chuckled and leaned towards her stomach before he whispered to the child, "Don't worry, I won't let her turn you into her Squint Jr."_

_ Bones playfully shoved him._

_ "Besides, I think we're having a boy," Booth informed, facing back towards her._

_ "What lead you to that conclusion?" she asked._

_ He smirked. "Fatherly instinct."_

_ Brennan smiled, understanding his play on words. But instead of refuting his logic, she chose to let him believe what he wanted; she would raise her child in the sciences, all the same. She leaned down and kissed Booth, happy to be having a child with him._

_ "But we do know one thing about him," he murmured against her lips._

_ "What?" she asked between kisses._

_ Booth pulled back a little to answer. "He's going to have the best parents any kid could ask for."_

Brennan snapped back to the present, looking back at Booth.

And Brennan felt a deep, longing in her heart for that life. She wished for it, and, from just that snippet, she missed it. It felt as if she had been entranced in a movie, only to watch the end credits roll by and make her realize how much she wanted to live in that movie.

She somewhat pitied Booth. He remembered every bit of their last seven years. He had tasted the fruit of their happiness, had been given the tree, but he was now unable to keep it.

"Bones, I better be heading home," he murmured, not really noticing that she had been lost in her thoughts; he had been lost in his own. "I'll see you tomorrow." He walked out of her apartment, assuring her, "Call me if you need anything."

Brennan nodded, and he turned and left, leaving his toothbrush behind.

She had never felt so alone. This was so much worse than when she had been truly alone, back when her family left her. Because, now, when she finally began to long for someone's company, she didn't have it. She envied her alternate ego, the one who had been living in 2011 with everything one could dream of. She had a family, friends, a career… It was something this Brennan never got the chance to feel. Something that the man with the pipe stripped from her.

**Reviews make the words flow… ;)**


	5. The Conversation in the Kitchen

**Thanks soooooooo sooooooo sooooooo much to all of you wonderful folks who reviewed and alerted this story. It means so much to me. So here's the prolonged chapter 5. (Sorry about that!)**

**Chapter 5. The Conversation in the Kitchen.**

"_**Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes;**_

_**the most beautiful prizes slip through it."**_

_**-Robertson Davies**_

Brennan woke up the next morning with a pulse throbbing in her head. Her head felt fuzzy. She briefly tried to recall if she had been drinking the night before but thinking of the past brought more pain to her mind.

That was when her memories came trickling back, beginning with her identity, followed by her memories of yesterday. She remembered waking up with Booth, hitting him, the doctor's visit, her return to the Jeffersonian, everything about yesterday.

Brennan squinted against the bright sunlight, trying to nurse her headache as some of her memories came pouring back. She was able to recall yesterday, but the past seven years were . . . a blur. She couldn't grasp them. They fell through her hands like water, providing only momentary, brief images.

With a sigh, Brennan rose from her bed to begin her morning routines, staring with dressing for the day and ending with her coffee.

After nearly all of the morning rituals were completed, she walked out of her bedroom and into the kitchen to perform the last step. It wasn't until she reached her kitchen that she stopped, failing to recall where she had left the coffee mugs. She searched a cabinet, only to find plastic cups. She searched three more cabinets until she landed in front of her fifth with a huff, finally finding the mugs.

For the millionth time, she wished her mind would just recover from this inconvenient vacation. Her memories were needed for every portion of her life, and they had needlessly abandoned her. It was truly a nuisance.

So Brennan turned, mug in hand, only to forget where she had left her can of coffee mix.

She searched endlessly through every cabinet she had. The desired can was no where to be seen. Finally, she looked behind a bag of chips on a shelf. Sure enough, there laid the can of coffee mix.

Just as her irritation began to settle, she grabbed the can and set it down on the counter. She was filling the pot with water when the bulge on her abdomen reminded her of a key point she had forgotten: she was pregnant and couldn't drink coffee.

In a fit of agitation and anger, she picked her coffee mug up from where it rested on the counter and threw it against the ground. Hot tears threatened the edges of her eyes as the ceramic shattered apart with a loud crash.

She bit her trembling lip, fighting the tears. She knew that her outburst and tears were unnecessary, yet she couldn't help but feel these emotions. It wasn't fair; she had lived a happy life, only to wake up in an older body, living someone else's life. She had been granted a small taste of that life through that memory of Booth, and now there was no going back.

For a briefly irrational moment, she partially wished she had woken up and pretended to be this other Brennan. Maybe then she would be living that other life, happy with Booth. She didn't know if she was just hungry for a man or if she wished to be in love. Either way, it seemed that Booth was what she desired and, therefore, couldn't have.

She sunk to the ground, fighting the sobs that were rising in her throat. She had never felt so alone. Angela and Hodgins had moved on with their lives and gotten married. Zack and Goodman had moved out of her life altogether. And she had been left here to fend for herself.

Brennan couldn't understand what had developed between her and Booth. Those memories were so deeply hidden in the confines of mind that she couldn't see that it was Booth that she moved on with. She didn't know that he had protected her from every danger that had arose during the past seven years, that he was the one who cracked her shell and allowed her taste of true emotions again.

Suddenly, something pressed against the front of her abdomen. In shock, she looked down at her belly. Her lips trembled as she pressed her hand against her growing baby.

_'I forgot about you,'_ she amended mentally. _'You're still here. I don't know you, and there is a 99.99% chance that you can't here me now. Yet, I'm glad you're here.'_

A knock came to her door, startling her from her thoughts.

"Bones?" Booth's voice called gently through the wood. "You awake?"

Brennan hastily scrubbed the tears away and rose to her feet. She quickly moved to open the door, not trusting her voice to answer for fear that it would tremble.

She opened the door and let a small smile rise to her lips.

He stood there, freshly showered and meticulously groomed, but he didn't have the power to get rid of the bags under his eyes. In his hands were two disposable cups from the local coffee shop.

His standing there pulled at the strings of her heart, as did her presence to him. She briefly recalled a moment when he had stood like this, offering Thai food to her in her apartment door.

She snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice.

"I thought you might want some tea since you can't have coffee with the pregnancy and all," he said, offering the cup.

She took it, happy that she was able to drink something warm this morning. "Thank you. Do you want to come in?"

The formalities sounded off to both sets of ears, but Booth moved in gratefully. "Yeah, that'd be great."

He came in and stood by the couch. Neither wanted to sit, so neither offered nor did.

"So what are your plans for the day?" he asked, stuffing his fists in his jeans.

That was when Brennan noticed his casual wardrobe. "None so far. You're not working?"

He followed her gaze to his casual t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket. "Well, I thought I'd just take the day off, spend some time with Parker, see how you're doing. . ." He trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

"I'm fine," she responded with her reflex reaction.

Booth gave a nod as his eyes trailed to the coffee can on the counter. A half smile flickered to his lips. "You found the coffee. I tried to keep it out of sight so that you wouldn't be tempted during your pregnancy."

Her stomach contracted as she became surprised at the kindness he had shown her. How could this be the man she had known?

Booth's gaze found its way back to Brennan's stare. "What?" he asked with a smirk, wanting to be let in on her thoughts.

"You've changed," she admitted, her tone surprised.

Booth snorted. "Nah, I'm still the cocky, highly effective F.B.I. agent you remember me to be."

She shook her head, absentmindedly stepping towards him. "Something about you. . . You've changed, Booth."

He offered her a small smile. "So have you, Bones."

She broke her transfixed gaze from his, choosing to look at her pillow on the couch instead. "What would I be doing on a Tuesday?"

Booth smiled. "You'd be in work."

She let a small smile come to her lips, slightly relieved that she hadn't abandoned her persona completely during the past few years. "Your analysis of my typical workday makes it seem as if I haven't really changed.

"But evolution proves that everything does change over time, and seven years would have high entropy. . ." she trailed off, considering the scientific point of view.

Booth was amused by her scientific rant but stopped following at evolution. "See? The scientist in you hasn't disappeared a bit."

She smiled, happy at his comfort.

Booth stared into her blue eyes, wishing that she could just understand what they had, how much he still loved her. But as the silence grew, he broke the eye contact. That was when he noticed the shattered ceramic littering her kitchen floor.

"Bones, what happened?" he asked, instantly making his way to clean it up.

"Oh, it fell," she lied, on his heels to clean up her own mess.

He squatted down and began picking up the bits, and Brennan quickly joined him.

"No, I got it," he offered. "Don't cut yourself."

"I don't need to be babied, Booth," she countered as she continued to scoop the shards into her hands.

Booth didn't argue, but he moved faster to pick up the majority of the pieces.

After it was all cleaned up, Booth moved into what he had been thinking about ever since he walked she opened that door. "So I was thinking you probably don't remember visiting some the Botanic Gardens. Going there could bring back some memories."

Brennan gave a nod, enjoying the idea of spending a day with Booth. She tried to conjure up some images of previous visits to the garden but couldn't recall any clear memories.

"I heard Cam gave you a couple of days off, so if you wanted to go—" Booth's unnaturally awkward invitation was cut off by his phone's ring.

He stopped, asked for her to wait a second, and declared "Booth" into his phone.

They waited a few moments as Booth was informed of something. Something that made his pupils dilate and his heart rate increase.

"I'll be right there," he vowed before stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

He turned with an apologetic expression back to the curious Brennan. "Sorry, something came up at work. I'll be back as soon as I can to check up on you." The truth slipped from Booth's mouth, the reason he really dropped by Brennan's apartment. He didn't notice, though. The phone call got him rattled, sending him straight towards the door of her apartment.

"I am not a child, Booth. I don't need to be checked up on," Brennan protested, chasing him as he darted for the door. "What was that phone call about?"

"Nothing," he promised too quickly.

Brennan moved so that she stood in front of the open door, blocking his exit. "Was it a case?"

Booth released the breath that he had been holding in with a huff. "Look, the guy who attacked you the other night has started talking. Now I need to get down there so I can drill the guy."

"I want to go," she said, moving into his path again when he tried to sidestep her.

He smirked, seeing the plans formulating in her brain. Her plans always involved her continuously working. "No. No way, Bones. You're on sick leave."

"But I feel fine," she stated with a look of confusion. She would have guessed that over the years Booth had taken her to solve more cases, not less. "Please, I would like to see the man who attacked me."

"I'm not sure, Bones," he admitted as his attempts to step around her faded into a stand still. His resolve began to dissolve as he began indulging his fantasy of going to work with her again so soon.

She straightened herself, deciding to try to win him over with logic. "I understand that it may be your alpha male instincts to want to protect me from someone who struck me before, but I would be standing in the observation room. I just wish to see his face to see if it stimulates my hippocampus into recalling some recollections."

Booth eyed suspiciously, wary of agreeing to something with her. "You'll just be in the observation room?" he checked.

"Yes."

"No interaction between you two will take place?"

"Yes."

"Yes to what?" he asked, becoming confused by the direction of their conversation.

"Yes to what you just said," she offered.

Booth waved his hand, giving up on regaining the conversation. "Alright, let's go. But I'm taking you straight home afterwards."

As they began making their way out of the apartment complex, Brennan began trying to renegotiate. "I am perfectly capable of working, Booth. My memories of the years prior to meeting you are still very much intact."

Booth rolled his eyes as they stepped into the SUV, bracing himself for the arguments she was soon to put up about an early return to work.

…

**Ha, we all know there is no way Brennan will be staying in the observation room. ;)**

**Sorry, not much happening in this chapter, but I wanted to put something up since I've been withholding for too long. My apologies! The next chapter will be much more interesting, seeing as how I will reveal the intents of the man that struck Brennan.**

**Reviews are highly encouraged and gratefully accepted.**


	6. Explanation in the Interrogation Room

**My sincerest apologies! I had been completely convinced that I had already posted this chapter, so when I looked this over to write the next chapter, I realized that it had never been posted. So sorry for the extended delay!**

**Chapter 6. The Explanation in the Interrogation Room.**

_**"Set your target and keep trying until you reach it."**_

_**-Napoleon Hill**_

The door slammed behind Booth, create an echo that reverberated around the small interrogation room. Then, replacing the loud bang, an uncomfortable quiet silence settled in the room. Booth stood in front of the sitting suspect, holding his file in his hands.

After merely staring at the shifty, sweaty suspect for a good minute, Booth gave him a patronizing smirk as he straddled the metal chair in front of him. He flipped open the man's file and settled it between the two on the table.

"Kyle Gates," he spoke, drawing out the man's name. "You ready to start talking?"

Kyle shifted, his eyes continuously moving. He was obviously agitated and tapping his pale, bone-thin fingers against the metal of his chair. There was a layer of sweat coating his twenty-eight year old face, giving him a sickly appearance.

Booth had worked in this business long enough to recognize a druggie when he saw one. And now Kyle was going through withdrawal, causing him to do anything to get his next fix.

"Just let me out of here," Kyle muttered, his fingers continuously pounding his chair.

Booth leaned against his own chair, completely at ease. He was going make this guy sweat it. "Just tell me who you're working with, Kyle. Maybe I can score you a deal with the district attorney."

Kyle swallowed against the groans that were growing in his throat. "Daniel."

Booth leaned forward, placing his hands in front of him. "Does Daniel have a last name?"

Kyle ran his hand anxiously through his hair before slamming his hand against the metal table. "I don't know. We don't use 'em much."

Booth slammed Kyle's file shut and rose from his seat. "Then I can't do anything for you, Kyle."

"No, wait," he pleaded, the tapping against his chair increasing.

Drawing out the motion, Booth sat back into his seat.

"I think it was Monroy. Monroe. Something like that," he muttered, closing his eyes as he fought the hunger pains off.

"There's a lot of Daniels in Washington D.C., Kyle," Booth pointed out. "Without a last name, we can't offer you much."

"I don't know!" Kyle burst in frustration. "I can't think!"

"Then think harder!" Booth shouted back, slamming his fist against the table.

Kyle gnawed his lip, trying to get a clear thought. "Daniel Monroe."

Booth glanced toward the glass that separated them from the observation room. He knew some agent was already researching the name.

"Why did you strike Dr. Brennan?" Booth demanded.

"Because I was hired to," he shot back angrily. He wanted to get away from this agent and back to his heroin hazed life.

"By Daniel?"

"Yeah."

"And why," Booth asked leaning forward and lowering his voice threateningly, "did Daniel send you to strike to Dr. Brennan?"

"The guy's a sicko, man," Kyle muttered with a wave of the hand. "God knows why."

But Booth notice Kyle's suddenly averted gaze and anxious twitching of the fingers.

"Why, Kyle?" Booth demanded, his voice and anger rising.

Kyle shrugged. "I get my fix from him, and I do his little tasks. Maybe if you send me out to buy some heroin from him, he'll contact me again."

"_Why Dr. Brennan_?" Booth demanded again, emphasizing each word with a hostile tone.

Kyle met Booth's gaze finally. Then Kyle's lips curved upwards in a sick smile. "Hell, I'm not getting out of here alive anyways.

"It's because she's next, Agent Booth. She's next on the Danny's list."

Booth's eyes narrowed. "What list?"

Kyle chuckled and resumed his fingers' tapping against the metal chair. "The list to die. Danny gave me her name because she's his next target."

"Son of a bitch," Booth growled, yanking Kyle by his shirt's collar and throwing him against the glass of the observation window. He then stalked up to Kyle and held his collar threateningly.

The door flew open, revealing a calm and rational Brennan. She quickly marched to Booth and began pulling his arms so he would release.

"Booth, let him go," she tried to convince him. "He's trying to cause a hostile reaction from you so that you'll become angry. He's trying to get to you, Booth."

Never releasing his glare off of Kyle, Booth's fingers slowly released their grip on Kyle's shirt.

But Kyle had lost his amusement in Booth's anger. His eyes and attention were captured by Brennan. He let out a soft breath of an astonished laugh before murmuring in wonder, "You're her."

Brennan threw a confused glance at him before returning her gaze to Booth.

"Yeah, she's Dr. Brennan," Booth growled menacingly. "Now go sit back down in your chair!"

Kyle obeyed, transfixed with the sight of Brennan. "You're the one."

Brennan turned her attention to Kyle.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Booth demanded.

"She's the one Danny's been doing this for," Kyle murmured, unable to take his eyes off of Brennan. "It's her picture that Danny keeps. I didn't realize he had sent me to get her when he sent me after Brennan; her photo never had a name."

Brennan fought the eerie chills that Kyle's murmurings caused her. She straightened her back and fought her fear.

Booth, on the other hand, moved protectively in front of Bones. He leaned threateningly towards Kyle. "Explain."

Kyle reluctantly removed his gaze from Brennan. "Look at the evidence, Agent Booth. It should be obvious enough."

Booth's jaw muscle flexed as they sized one another up.

Suddenly, Booth turned away from Kyle and latched onto Brennan's arm. "Come on, Bones. We're leaving."

Brennan, for the first time she remembered, allowed herself to be escorted out with Booth.

"What about my deal?" Kyle called as they began exiting the door.

Booth turned back with hot fury smoldering behind his eyes. "I said it could be offered, not that it would. You tried to kill my partner; be grateful I didn't kill you."

Once the couple made it safely back into Booth's office, Booth settled into his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. Just when he was consumed with worry for Bones, a whole new platter of anxiety was slammed onto the table. . .

"I need to get back to the lab," Brennan stated, acting as if it was the most obvious and natural conclusion in the world. Then again, for her, it was the most obvious and natural conclusion in the world. Work, for Dr. Temperance Brennan, was like air; she could go without it for a little while, but it was vital to her survival to resume the habit.

"What?" Booth asked, suddenly confused by how she came to that as the conclusion. "No way, Bones! You're still on sick leave—"

"Those women need to be identified, Booth," she protested, having been filled in on the details of the case on the way to the Hoover building. "Kyle challenged us to look at the evidence, and those women are evidence that I can help uncover."

Booth's jaw flexed, having acquired so much stress in such a short amount of time. "You need to be put into protective custody, Bones. That Kyle guy is making it sound like some serial killer is after you. He could be anywhere at anytime."

"You have the name," she protested. "If you put out a BOLO for his face, he will be turned in."

Booth sighed. "He's been having other people do his dirty work for him, Bones. He's probably not in public enough to actually be spotted, let alone brought in."

Just as Brennan opened her mouth to argue his point, a woman poked her head into Booth's door as she gave a brief knock. "We identified Monroe."

Booth stood up from his seat and quickly followed the woman out of his office. He was lead to a computer that had Daniel Monroe's face on it.

Daniel was Kyle's age, at the end of his twenties. He had dark black hair, sharp features, and a nearly spotless criminal record.

"He's known Kyle Gates since high school," the woman quickly informed Booth. "They hijacked a car when they were seventeen and then attended the same college together. There's no way Monroe is just Gates' supplier."

Booth gave a nod. "We can use that to our advantage."

Without another word, Booth turned and placed his hand on the small of Brennan's back to guide her along. She stiffened at his touch but, oddly, didn't wish for him to let her go.

'_Some part of me must still recognize his presence_,' she rationalized in her head. '_I've been working with him for so long that he is familiar to me, if only on an unconscious level._'

"I'm going to assign some agents for protection detail," Booth informed her as he led her back to his office.

Brennan sighed as they went into his office. There was really no escaping Booth's antics. "If they don't interfere with my work at the Jeffersonian, I will tolerate two guards."

Booth snorted. "Two? Come on, Bones. Four is the bare minimum in protection detail."

"One," she threatened.

"Five!" Booth upgraded haughtily.

"Then the Jeffersonian's extensive security detail will have to suffice, Booth," she settled, turning on her heel to go out of his office.

"Fine! Two," he compromised bitterly, collapsing into his desk chair with a grimace. He began tapping at the buttons on his phone, grumbling about 'next time's.

Brennan left the Hoover building without bothering to wait for her security detail; they'd know where to find her.

Now, she was anxious to learn about the remains. She needed to know what Kyle had meant.

'_Look at the evidence_,' Kyle's voice reverberated through her ears. ' _It should be obvious enough_.'

**Thoughts? Feelings? Suggestions? I'm curious to know.**


	7. The Connections in the Lab

**Thank you to FindingBella for giving me the kick in the butt to get going on this chapter and stop dwindling. See? Reviews do make me update. ;)**

**Chapter 7. The Connections in the Lab.**

"_**History is the witness that testifies to the passing of time; it illumines reality, vitalizes memory, provides guidance in daily life and brings us tidings of antiquity."**_

_**-Cicero**_

Brennan ran her glove-encased fingers over the extent of the femur, studying the various cracks and erosions in the bone.

It felt as if it was the first time she had ever looked at these remains, part of the reason she was irritated with this case. She knew that she had looked over this case before; her handwritten notes were laid out in front of her. Yet, she had no recollection whatsoever of ever glancing at these sets of remains, let alone studying them extensively.

The constant frustration transgressed into a fit of an inner turmoil of cursing her memory loss, causing Brennan to shove all of her straying thoughts into a box. She slammed the box shut, taped it together, and kicked it under the bed. She didn't want to ever think about her issues again.

Femur indicates mid thirties. The height's roughly . . . one hundred and seventy-five centimeters, five feet nine inches in Booth's terms.

Booth. He had become so worried since she woke up in this state of mind, now even more so since there's a killer on the loose. Brennan felt guilty for not knowing him like he knows her; she felt she was robbing him of his true girlfriend, partner, and mother of his child.

Brennan set down the femur with a huff. There were those thoughts again. They had unsealed themselves and snuck out from under the bed, infiltrating and overwhelming her mind once more. Could they not leave her alone for more than a moment?

"Brennan!"

Angela's voice rang up to the platform. Angela quickly hopped up the steps and joined her friend, four files in hand.

"I was finally able to I.D. the first victim," she informed, a bit of an edge to her voice. "She donated a kidney to her brother back in '04, so I was able to get a match off of a list of donors. And it's weird."

"Donating a kidney is not that abnormal of an occurrence, Ange," Brennan pointed out, her eyes frequently running over the second set of remains. What was she missing?

"I know," Angela continued her thought. "That's not the weird part."

"Bones!" Booth's call from the Jeffersonian entrance echoed to the two women, interrupting their conversation. He jogged up to meet them, only slightly slowing to scan his card through the security strip on his way up the platform.

Angela turned to Booth with a threatening grin. "Well, hello to you, too. What do _you_ have to say, Booth?"

"Sorry, Angela," Booth apologized, catching his mistake.

Angela sighed, his repentance extinguishing her flaming annoyance. "Sorry, I'm a little on edge. We all are. You both need to see this."

She opened the file on top of her stack, revealing two pictures lying side by side. One was Angela's facial reconstruction, the other a photo taken off of the list of donors. They were obviously a match.

Booth and Brennan studied the photographs, uneasy and surprised at the victim's appearance.

"Her name is Alexia Livingston," Angela revealed, not happy with the photograph either. "She grew up on a farm in Kentucky before moving to West Virginia to attend an art college. She was reported missing five weeks ago by her brother. She was only thirty-four."

Booth and Brennan listened to the sorrowful news half-heartedly; they were too mesmerized by the woman's image. She had brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders, a fair and elegant complexion, and striking blue eyes. She was the spitting image of Temperance Brennan.

"She looks just like you," Angela voiced everyone's thoughts.

Booth looked at Brennan anxiously then back at the photo. His eyes then trailed up to Brennan again before repeating the cycle.

"I I. the other three victims," Angela said, holding the three files up in her hand. "Same thing."

Brennan quickly snatched the folders from her friend's hand before laying them on an empty slab. She flipped the top one open and stared at the photo.

_Rebecca Hurston. _She had brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders, a fair and elegant complexion, and striking blue eyes. She was the spitting image of Temperance Brennan.

Fear, anger, and anxiety swelled within Brennan, causing her to shove that folder away from her and tear open the next file.

_Lisa Moss. _She had brown hair that flowed just past her shoulders . . . and striking blue eyes. Brennan stared at the reflection of herself before shoving that one away, too.

_Danielle Levees. _Brown hair, those blue eyes. She was another Temperance Brennan who had been killed off for the sake of her looks.

Brennan stared at nothing, trying to control her breathing. This much anxiety wasn't good for her growing baby, but she couldn't help it; she couldn't handle something else like this.

"Bones. . ." Booth murmured, sensing her anxiety. He gently laid a hand against her arm, causing her to move away from his touch. He let it pass. "We'll catch this guy. We always do."

Brennan turned away from her friends, hurrying off to the closest place she could be alone: the janitor's closet.

Angela stared after her sadly, hating this situation and being the bearer of the bad news. She looked to Booth, who gave her a slight nod to indicate that he had this under control. She strolled away, needing to update Cam and the rest of the team about this turn of events.

Booth stood there alone on the platform for a moment, trying to think of the right words to comfort Brennan with. There had been so much hurt, so many attempts for comfort in these past few days that Booth didn't know if he conjure up another pep talk. But in his heart, he knew it didn't matter how many phrases he repeated nor how many times he had to try; he would always be there for Brennan.

He followed her into the five by ten feet closet, only a minute after she entered. It was a tight squeeze with all of the mops and equipment, not to mention the secret trap door, but Booth managed to slip inside and close the door.

Brennan was turned away from him, tears streaming down her face. She managed to choke back her muffled cries when Booth entered, but her eyes were still raw, threatening to spill into sobs at any moment. The amount of bottling stress was nearing explosion, causing her to need to release some of her accumulating emotions.

She turned towards Seeley, feeling obligated to explain herself to him. With a shaky voice, she spoke, "It seems my hormonal levels are still adjusting to my pregnancy. The slightest events appear to have catastrophic effects on my emotions."

"You don't owe me an explanation," he promised her. He wanted so badly to just pull her into his arms; he had waited seven years for that privilege, for God's sake. But he managed to resist invading her boundaries for the time being.

Brennan pursed her trembling lips, forcing them to still. She hated this feeling of vulnerability. It made her feel so weak, as if she wasn't living up to all that she had accomplished. She still felt the need to explain herself. "This man killed these innocent people because of _me._" She emphasized the last pronoun with a frown, as if she thought it was her fault those women were stripped of their lives. Some could argue that it was.

"It's not your fault, Bones," Booth assured her, forcing his arm to not reach out to her. "You're not the one who killed those women."

"But if I hadn't been the center of this murderer's attention, these women would not have died," she refuted, grief swelling in her heart. She hadn't felt such strong emotions since . . . since _high school_. It had been that long since her hormones influenced her emotions so strongly.

"Bones," Booth repeated her name, demanding her attention. "You're not at fault here, O.K.? If this bastard hadn't chosen you to obsess over, he would have just picked some other woman to target."

Brennan saw the logic in this, but it didn't ease the burden she bared. "These women wouldn't have died," she stated, her voice barely above an inaudible whisper.

Booth couldn't resist her then. In the close proximity they were in, it was too easy to just reach out a hold Brennan. His hands acted on their own accord, reaching out and taking Brennan's face in his hands. "Other innocent women would have died, Bones. Don't let this bastard mess with your head. That's probably what he wants."

Brennan couldn't and didn't want to pull away from Booth's hold. She longed for this feeling of love and protection all of her matured life. She allowed herself, just this once, to stay with his touch.

With a small yet warm smile, she stated, "One could argue that my head has already been messed with."

Booth couldn't fight his growing grin. "I'd disagree."

"You'd be wrong."

"I'd disagree," he repeated, not swayed by her logic.

She was amused by his arrogant antics, but it was too soon to feel the humor by laughing. "You've always had a hard time losing."

"That's because I always win," he stated with a smirk. He allowed his hand to drop from her face to her arms.

Brennan shook her head. "You said it was called a 'poor sport.'"

Booth grinned. "How can you remember that, but not your life?"

That made Brennan's smile fade as she contemplated the idea. "I . . . I don't know." The statement was hard to say, but it was the truth. She had no idea how or why her mind conjured up those details, yet not the important facts. She had never invested time in psychology ever since her parents abandoned her.

Just then, the door to the closet swung open, revealing a surprised Hodgins. He was covered in some sort of . . . well, goo. There was really no other way to describe the substance that slithered down his skin.

"Oh, hey, guys," he responded with a bashful but amused grin. He enjoyed seeing these two so close together, especially with Booth's hand holding Brennan. "'Didn't know you were in here."

Brennan straightened her back and wiped her tears off of her cheeks. It was one thing to reveal her vulnerability to Booth, but revealing it to Hodgins was like revealing it to the general population; he would be bound to tell every coworker.

"Did you find anything?" Brennan asked Hodgins as Booth let his arms drop from hers.

Hodgins retained his smirk even after the couple no longer touched. "Yeah, they all had their throats slashed. Angie's determining the make and model of the knife now, so if we find the murder weapon, we'll be able to prove that it was used."

Booth gave a nod, pulling out of the closet to make a phone call to the F.B.I.

Brennan strutted off to the forensic platform, leaving a curious Hodgins in her and Booth's wake.

* * *

><p>That night, Booth returned to his apartment. It lost its sense of Boothy character, but it was a furnished, safe environment that Booth and Brennan could reside in for the night.<p>

"You can have the bed," Booth offered, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Hadn't this exact situation happened when Jacob Broadsky hunted them? How many more killers would be targeting them?

Brennan shook her head. "You have a bad back. The couch's support will affect you in a greater way than it will to me."

Booth gave her a small smirk. "I never told you I have bad back."

Brennan frowned, realizing that she couldn't recall ever seeing him experience back pains nor tell her of any. "Do you have a bad back?"

Booth shrugged, his pride not allowing him to confess that he was not as flexible and perfectly fit as he was in high school. "Well, that would depend on what you considered a bad back . . ." He saw her still contemplative face and realized she was still waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I do."

The fact that Brennan was unconsciously recalling minute details excited Booth. Perhaps this was her path to regaining her memories.

But it only confused and annoyed Brennan. Where had these details come from? Why couldn't she just remember the important facts about her life?

"Do you need anything?" Booth asked, unsure of what to do now. Things had become so awkward in the matter of two days. Was it only two days? Was it only two days ago that Booth had held Brennan in his arms, promising that they'd be forever in love?

Brennan shook her head. "I'll be fine, Booth."

He gave a nod before backing out of the room to his bedroom. "Let me know if you need anything."

The lights were turned out as the couple lied down in their separate rooms.

Things had become so tense and nerve-racking. Booth stared up at his ceiling, and Brennan tugged her blanket tighter around her. They unconsciously built up their anxiety, waiting for the climax of this chapter of their lives, waiting for the events to finally peak. They could sense it on the horizon, nearly tangible.

All they could do now was wait.

**Huh. The readers of this story have to wait now as well . . . If I am able to accomplish my reality's studies quickly, perhaps the wait will shorten. We can only hope.**

**Review, please? :)**


	8. The Clues in the Case

**Thank you so dearly for your time and patience.**

**Sorry, this chapter was delayed because I wanted to post it with the next. (This one is so very short.)**

**Chapter Eight. The Clues in the Case.**

"_**If knowledge can create problems, it is not through ignorance that we can solve them."**_

_**-Isaac Asimov**_

"I'm sorry, sir," the junior agent politely apologized. "Daniel Monroe doesn't have a listed address."

Booth ground his teeth together in frustration. He had spent all morning trying to find this conniving son of a bitch, only to come up empty-handed.

"Thanks," Booth answered the woman, dismissing her from his office.

She gave a nod and hurried out.

Booth ran his hands over his face, feeling the nearly overwhelming desire to down a bottle of whiskey. This week had him constantly on edge; he was always trying to anticipate the next event on the tip of his toes.

But then the event would come, much larger than imagined, and knock him off of his feet again.

So this morning, after dropping Brennan off at the Jeffersonian, he went straight to work to research any leads they had.

But Monroe was no where to be found. He had no listed address under police records other than his deceased parents' old home. He had never bought a cell phone, making him untraceable. His credit cards have been inactive for seven years. Even when he was, ironically, in an animal rights group, he left no address nor phone number to be reached at.

Booth's phone rang then, snapping him out of his pitiful state. He picked it up and announced gruffly, "Booth."

"Well, hello to you, too, Cherie," came Caroline's voice from the other line. "Do you always welcome good people this openly?"

Booth slouched back in his chair, still feeling a little defeated. "It's not a good time, Caroline."

"It's not a good time to hear good news?" Caroline asked, knowing the answer. "Things must be pretty bad over there, Cherie."

"What do you have, Caroline?"

"I've been going through these files on Daniel Monroe," Caroline explained. "He and his Kyle Gates friend got another partner, Cherie. In every one of their yearbook pictures, the three of them are there, grinning at each other. It gives me the creeps, Cherie."

Booth instantly perked up at the new lead. "Who?"

"Christian Lancaster." Caroline's voice became threatening. "You better catch this son of a bitch, Booth."

The corner of Booth's mouth turned upwards as his hope was regained. "Don't we always?"

* * *

><p>Booth walked through the Jeffersonian entrance, a quick pace demonstrating his slightly more optimistic mood. He was staring at the file on Christian Lancaster as he walked in, causing his eyes to be trained away from the increasingly frantic security detail.<p>

Agent Barnes, one of the two security detailers, looked to his partner for assistance. "Where did she go?"

Agent Cane glared at his partner, not willing to accept the blame. In a hushed whisper, he threatened back, "Don't you dare try to pin this on me! You were with her last!"

It was then that Agent Booth approached the men. He gave them a curious glance, searching for Brennan. "Where's Bones?"

Cane glared at his partner, forcing Barnes to step forward. He cleared his throat before admitting, "It seems she has, uh, escaped our line of sight, sir."

Booth glared at both of the inferior agents. "What do you mean she 'escape your line of sight?' Where the hell is she?"

Brennan stepped out from her office, hearing the commotion by the entrance. "Booth?"

Booth's head instantly snapped up, recognizing his partner's voice. "Bones." He sprinted up to meet her, the other agents following reluctantly.

"Why'd you ditch the agents?" Booth demanded anxiously. "I thought we agreed two—"

Brennan began walking to the forensic platform, cutting him off. "I have work to do, Booth. I will not stop and wait so the unnecessary security detail can keep up."

Booth gave the two agents a threatening look, stopping his walk with Brennan briefly to mutter, "If you lose her again, you'll be answering to me."

Brennan noticed and rolled her eyes at the scene as she continued to walk.

Booth jogged to catch up with her, slowing as Hodgins stopped her enthusiastically.

"Guys," Hodgins mused with a smirk, "I am _officially_ King of the Lab. For at least a week."

Brennan gave him a curious look, not remembering Hodgins's constantly desired title.

Booth ignored the King-of-the-Lab bit. He was still recovering from his mini panic attack. "What is it, Hodgins?"

"Sheesh," the curly haired man commented, turning towards the computer on the forensic platform. He began typing as he continued, "What's wrong with you?"

Booth glared at his co-worker's back. "Sorry if I'm not jumping for joy when my partner is being targeted by some deranged, sociopathic serial killer!"

Hodgins stared at Booth as Brennan looked her partner over.

"Maybe you need some time off, Booth," Brennan recommended. Despite all that had been happening, she was back in her niche: working, cool as a cucumber.

Feeling a little exposed for reacting more to the situation than Brennan, Booth leaned against a metal slab and fell into a grumbling silence.

After a final curious look at Booth, Hodgins turned back to the computer and resumed typing. "I've found a leaf on the heel of Alexia Livingston's shoe. It's a minute sample, but I'm running it against a few databases." He turned to Booth and Brennan with a congratulatory smile, waiting for a 'King-of-the-Lab' entitlement.

After a moment of expectant silence, Brennan asked the question they were all wondering. "Has it been identified?"

"These things take time," Hodgins said, patting his hand against air as a 'calm down' sign.

"Great!" Booth responded, jumping up from his slouch against the slab. "In the mean time, Bones and I are going to check out a lead." He tugged on Brennan's arm, encouraging her to following him off the forensic platform. "Come on, Bones."

"Booth, I have paperwork I still have to fill out," she protested weakly. She would rather go out into the field, but the work at the Jeffersonian needed to be done.

"You have interns for that," he reminded her. In all honestly, he didn't want to let her out of his sight just yet. The small panic episode made him want to stay in her presence, if only for a little while longer.

That, and he had missed her. Entirely so.

**Very short, but I wanted to divide this chapter from the next. Thank you for reading, reviewing, and remaining so kindly patient! I'm so very grateful to you wonderful, devoted, beautiful individuals who take the time to read my works. Thank you.**


	9. The Emotions between the Partners

**Who else was super excited to see this new season of Bones/ the gender of the baby? All of my dreams have come true… Haha**

**Chapter 9. The Emotions between the Partners**

"_**A wonderful emotion to get things moving when one is stuck is anger. It was anger more than anything else that had set me off, roused me into productivity and creativity."**_

_**-Mary Garden **_

Booth's fist pounded on the door. The red wood trembled at his touch, feeling the vibrating annoyance that resonated from him.

Brennan wanted to pull back on his hand, her maternal instincts flooding her system. She noticed the tricycle and swing set that littered the house's front lawn. It was obvious that a family resided here.

"Booth, children could be trying to fall asleep," Brennan pointed out, a pointed finger indicating the dark, eight o'clock sky.

"Bones, a serial killer could be living here," Booth defended.

Brennan agreed with him on that point. She watched silently as the door was pulled inwards.

A blonde woman in her thirties peered cautiously at the partnership on her doorstep. "Yes?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, F.B.I." Both flashed his badge before indicating to Brennan. "This here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We were looking for a Christian Lancaster."

The woman gave a nod and extended her hand. "I'm Melanie, Chris's wife."

Booth and Brennan shook her hand, noticing the weak grip she had.

She hugged the tan shall she wore around her thin waist as she stepped aside to let them in.

A man of Melanie's age stepped around the corner of the small entrance's living room. He had sandy colored hair, cut short. However, he had permitted a five o'clock shadow to form around his jaw, shading his lightly tanned complexion. He stepped up to the door and placed himself in front of Melanie.

"Can I help you?" he stated, eying Booth and then Brennan. His eyes lingered on her swollen belly, followed by a pause on her face. The staring made Booth uncomfortable, so he slightly angled himself in front of his partner.

"They're the F.B.I., Chris," Melanie murmured from behind him.

Chris glanced at his wife before turning his gaze back to those on his doorstep. "What does the F.B.I. want with me?"

Booth straightened his tie before speaking. "We just have a couple of questions for you. We won't be long." He gave a forced grin to the man, not wanting to resort to dragging the man into custody in front of his fragile-looking wife.

Reluctantly, Chris stepped aside, permitting the two to enter.

Booth and Brennan walked in without a rush. Booth settled himself on a couch immediately as Brennan strolled around the room, noticing pictures and decorations.

Dane, a boy of only four, watched the scene from the bottom of the stairs.

Chris noticed his son's presence and muttered into Melanie's ear, "Take him upstairs."

Melanie gave her husband a worried look, but kept quiet. With a final glance at the F.B.I. agents, she walked to the staircase, found her son's hand, and marched up the wooden stairs.

"Have you lived here long?" Brennan asked, staring at a picture of a happier Chris and Melanie, planted in front of the house they now stood in.

"Five years," Chris answered shortly.

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" Booth questioned, noticing the edgy impatience that radiated from the man. "Perhaps with Daniel Monroe?"

Chris's dark eyes hardened. "I haven't seen that son of bitch in fifteen years. Why the hell are you bringing him up now?"

Booth straightened from his slouch. "You were in cahoots with the guy. You, Daniel, and Kyle: the three musketeers." Booth stood, stepping closer to the suspect. "Are you saying you don't know about their little side business?"

Chris's expression turned to that of angry confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? I told you; I haven't seen Kyle or Danny in fifteen years!"

"Nor," Brennan corrected absentmindedly, fiddling with a picture frame. Booth and Chris looked up at her, not quite comprehending the comment. "The grammatically correct phrase would be 'Kyle _nor_ Danny.'"

"Thanks, Bones," Booth replied, turning back to Chris to resume the interrogation. "You didn't kill Alexia Livingston? Rebecca Hurston? Lisa Moss? Danielle Levees? You didn't slash their throats, laughing with your buddies? You didn't kill and torment them for Daniel's fixation?"

Chris closed his eyes to escape Booth's words. "No. No! NO!"

The suspect took deep breaths through his nose, attempting to calm his fueled anger. His eyes flashed up at Booth. "Please. My family is just in the other room. I didn't kill anyone."

Booth stepped closer to Chris, his eyes burning holes in the suspect's skin. "Do you know how to get in contact with them?"

Chris turned his eyes away from the agent and gave a nod. In the back of his mind, he noticed that it was his wife was now waiting on the bottom of the staircase, but he ignored her as he continued into the kitchen for a pencil and paper.

"Have you seen this man?" Brennan asked Melanie, presenting a high school picture of Daniel Monroe.

Melanie inched away from Brennan. "I shouldn't be talking to you."

Brennan noticed the deep set circles underneath her eyes. She noticed the dread and worry that this woman was experiencing, written all over her face. Brennan forgot of her own dramas and dilemmas and focused on this woman. She edged the picture closer to Melanie and murmured, "You could help save lives. This man has been killing and torturing women. He's going to be stopped."

Melanie gnawed at her lip, and gently took the picture from Brennan's hand. After a moment of peering, she whispered, "I've seen him around here, once or twice. Chris doesn't let him stay long."

"Has he been here recently?"

Melanie shook her head. "Three weeks ago, maybe longer." She grasped onto Brennan's arm and murmured earnestly, "Please, don't let Chris know I spoke with you."

Brennan gave a nod, slipping the picture back into her pocket as she stepped away.

Chris reentered the room, the phone number in his hand. He threw a look to Melanie and chastised, "I thought I told you to stay upstairs with Dane."

She turned her eyes away from Chris as Booth and Brennan slowly moved out of the house.

Booth paused and handed Melanie his card. "Call if you remember anything."

Chris watched the scene as Melanie slowly took the card into her grasp. He then moved forward and began closing the door behind the couple. "Good night, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan." His eyes strayed to Brennan and remained on her features until the door separated them.

Brennan turned away, running over what had just happened in her mind again. She began walking away with Booth, murmuring, "We can't just leave them, Booth. Christian may not be the serial killer, but he obviously displays violent behaviors to assure his male superiority."

Booth noticed the anxious, unconscious way Brennan grasped onto his arm. He pulled out his phone and replied, "I can't do anything without cause or evidence. I'm going to send a squad car to watch them from a distance. They might see something."

With a final look towards the wilting house, Brennan allowed herself to be escorted to Booth's SUV.

* * *

><p>"Maybe I should take you home," Booth suggested from behind the wheel, throwing an anxious look towards his partner.<p>

Brennan snapped out of her daze. Her hand had been gently resting on her baby bump, reminding her that this was reality. "I am capable of working longer. Often times, I have stayed up for days to finish my work and studies."

That didn't comfort Booth. "Hey, there's no need for that. You need to get sleep, rest up for the baby. The case will still be here in the morning."

The last thought aggravated Booth more than anything; he knew that this wretched case wouldn't be over if he just allowed himself to close his eyes and fall asleep. For the millionth time, he wondered how things could have turned so drastically wrong in a matter of days.

His phone infiltrated his tirade of thoughts. He quickly fished it out of his suit pocket and answered with a swift "Booth."

Brennan watched his expression become slightly disappointed. He noticed Brennan's curious, watchful stare, so he forced his expression to return to one of determination.

"Yeah, I'll go check it out now," he told his phone before snapping it shut.

With another glance at Brennan, he informed her, "The phone number has been traced back to a pay phone on K Street. I'll take you home and then go check it out—"

"I don't have a curfew, Booth," she refuted, continuously watching his reactions. "I would like to stay out in the field."

"You're pregnant," he pointed out the obvious. "You can't be running around with dangerous suspects when you're carrying our child!"

"You are not in charge of me, Booth!" she shot back hotly, reliving memories of the night Booth fired her, supposedly seven years ago. Her irrational anger fueled her, supplying a flow of remarks. "I don't need your permission to leave my apartment!"

"Actually, this is my case!" he argued, anger rising within him again. He had forgotten how stubborn Brennan could be. "And I hereby declare that you can't accompany me on anymore field work. Not while you're pregnant."

Brennan glared at him.

If Booth had only explained his fears for her safety, if he had only talked this out with her on a rational level, she more than likely would have complied. But now, anger clouded her judgment and battered off the logical conclusions.

And Brennan! If only she realized that she didn't want to be alone again. If she only explained the fears she felt for her life, for her child's life, for Booth's life, Booth would have understood. If they had talked this through, they wouldn't be searing with hot, irrational anger.

"Let me out of the car," Brennan ordered, turning towards her window. The night sky was dark now as it allowed drizzling rain to seep out of its clouds. They were now entering back into the city limits, away from the Lancaster's secluded town house.

The order splashed cold water onto Booth's hot anger. He began to plead, "Bones, look, I'm sorry. Let me just take you home—"

"Let me out, Booth," she ordered once more. Her voice had retreated back into a familiar, icy tone.

Booth looked at her, his eyes pleading. But she refused to look at him. Her eyes were set out her window, watching some foreign land that had yet to exist. He saw how her hand absentmindedly wiped a tear from her cheek and then fell back into her lap.

Booth looked away, guilt and grief constricting his heart. He muttered into his walkie-talkie for his back-up to come escort Brennan back to her apartment. They willing complied, and Brennan remained silent throughout the conversation.

Booth pulled over to the side of the road to wait for his close-by associates.

Brennan opened her car door and stepped out, still refusing to communicate with Booth. She slammed the car door before Booth could get in a word.

"Woah, Bones!" he interjected, scrambling out of his seatbelt and car door. He looked over at her from his side of the car. "Just wait inside the car. Monroe could be anywhere around here, just waiting for the opportune moment to take us out."

Brennan gave him a doubting look. "I fail to see how a fourth of an inch of plastic and glass will provide the durability to restrain a bullet."

Booth knew she was right; she always was when it came to matters of science. But that limited scope of perspective restricted her view of the heart, the cause of both of their actions and words.

So, with a paranoid and irritated Booth and a harsh and icy Brennan, the night continued to drizzle rain. The only sound that resonated to the couple was that of cars zooming past them.

With no abnormal action, the standard F.B.I. SUV pulled up to the couple. Brennan entered into the car with a backward glance to Booth. Like a stubborn child, she slammed the door closed before Booth could try to reconcile.

Like a petty partner, Booth threw a wave to his coworkers, slammed his own door shut, and drove off to K Street.

Brennan leaned against her seat and watched his dark car drive off without her. The feeling of being alone overwhelmed her again, causing her to regret her previous outbursts. The whole ironic source of them was her desire to stay with Booth. Alas, her words had backfired her intentions painfully.

The agents drove her home silently. Once, they had asked her if it was a left or right turn. She was forced to reply, "I don't know."

The lack of memories, the lack of knowledge also reinforced this feeling of solitude. She could get by with her knowledge of anthropology and childhood memories, but she couldn't live nor ever thrive when she had no idea where she even resided at night. She was so vulnerable. She hated it. She despised this entire situation.

By the use of MapQuest and F.B.I. files, the agents escorted her to her apartment safely. One hurried to walk her up to her apartment, and then did a secure sweep of the area. Brennan remained silent, only giving them a nod when they bid her a good night.

There was an agent on the stairs of her apartment, and there was an agent outside her door. Still, Brennan's feelings of vulnerability and solitude clutched onto her.

She wondered if Booth was at the phone booth yet. He probably was. He was probably becoming so lost in his work that Brennan was forgotten.

These thoughts made her sigh as she walked to her kitchen. Dr. Brennan had never been one to indulge in pity; it never catalyzed productivity. But in her swirl of pregnancy hormones and feelings of loneliness, her mind innately conjured up these unhelpful ideas.

She wanted a drink. She wanted a strong, hard and bitter drink. But the bulge of her stomach reminded her of her dietary restrictions.

Instead, she sank to the tiled floor of her kitchen, her wet hair and clothes constricting her skin. She pulled at it, but it was no use; the fabric was permanently attached to her flesh.

The frustration of the moment caused her to lean forward and collapse against her bent knees. Sobs wracked through her chest and escaped quietly through her mouth.

Why couldn't she just remember who she was? Why couldn't she be the Brennan who was loved by Booth? Why was she forced to remain alone this wretchedly cold, fearful world?

Her cries grew in intensity as the feelings and thoughts encouraged one another farther and farther, aching Brennan's heart with each needle stabbed.

Suddenly, a small, fluttering kick pressed against Brennan's abdomen. The unexpected feeling surprised Brennan, quieting her cries. She straightened herself and stared down at her stomach. Gently, slowly, she placed the palm of her hand against the bulge and waited cautiously.

Another small movement met her.

A small smile came to Brennan's trembling lips. It didn't matter if she had no recollection of making this child. It was irrelevant that she couldn't remember the child's father.

This was her child, reminding her that she was never alone.

**Thank you, my favorite people. I hope you let me know what you think. The next chapter will be beginning with the action. It was going to start here, but I felt I should just leave it as a chapter of a flurry of emotions.**

**Thank you so much for reading and staying ever patient! I deeply apologize for the delays, but school leaves me little time for much else.**

**Thank you, again, again, and again!**


	10. The Implications of the Behaviors

**Fair warning—the events that are about to take place create sighs and gasps. Perhaps other negative emotions. (But it's not the end!)**

**Chapter 10. The Implications of the Behaviors**

"_**The emotional implications are something that he has not been trained to feel. **_

_**His whole life has been about separating himself from these sorts of actions."**_

_**-Atom Egoyan **_

The day had been too long. With effort, Brennan arose from the ground and walked to her living room. With a look toward her bedroom, she deemed her bed to be too far of a walk. The couch, laid out just beside her, invited her in, coaxing her to rest.

Brennan looked at the plush cushions and complied. She lied down with a sigh and fell asleep with her hand gently resting on her abdomen, reminding her of her constant companion.

…

Booth exited his SUV, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. The events of tonight had been all wrong. He hated that Brennan sat alone in her apartment, hating him. Why didn't he just explain his worries for her? Why did their damn anger have to screw everything up?

With a scowl, Booth pushed his repetitious, criticizing thoughts from his mind. Or, rather, he tried to. But, try as he might, they always stumbled their way home again.

'Sweep the area,' Booth thought to himself, trying to focus on the task at hand. He needed to get this job done so he could go grovel for forgiveness from Bones. He needed to stay with her, with his child. He needed to know that they were O.K., that Brennan would—could—move past his outburst. He didn't know this Brennan well; he didn't know her capabilities.

The area was clean. Daniel Monroe was nowhere nearby.

Cautiously, keeping himself aware of his surroundings, Booth walked his way towards the abandoned phone booth.

The outside of it was normal. No outstanding markings set it apart from any other; a couple carvings and graffiti marks were scatter here and there, but nothing truly set it apart.

Booth went to the front and pulled on the door. It was stuck, unwilling to budge. With close examination, Booth noticed that the door had a small keyhole towards the bottom of the door. It had been locked closed.

Not wanting to break a glass phone booth open in public, Booth fished out some lock-picking tools. He quickly picked the lock, finding no bolts that hindered his desired achievement.

Then, he pulled it open.

Despite his expectations of a bomb going off, or an alarm to sound, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. It opened. There was nothing more to it.

Booth stepped inside, searching for a piece of paper to be tucked away or a number to be written on the inside. Nothing. It was abnormally pristine when compared with its outward appearance.

Booth sighed. If it hadn't been for the out-of-place lock, he would have deemed this 'lead' as a bust. Still, there was nothing to go on. Perhaps Chris had given this number to pacify Booth and get him off his case.

Booth stuck some coins in the slot to see if it worked, calling a number to double check the lead.

"Hello?" Chris asked warily. His tone was an odd shift from that at the town house.

"Hello, Chris," Booth responded casually. "You know, I'm in the phone booth you told me about, and you know what? There's nothing here."

Chris's voice took on a new edge. "You're in the phone booth now?"

"So what'd you do Chris?" Booth questioned, ignoring the question. "Give me a faulty number? Why didn't you just stick with your first story?" He had to admit, it was a little unconventional to be interrogating someone over the phone.

"He knows," Chris hissed desperately. Sounds of objects moving and dropping from his end of the phone line resounded to Booth's ear. "You just signed off on our deaths, Agent Booth!"

The line cut off abruptly. Booth looked at the phone before hanging it back up. It was now that Booth questioned the validity of Chris's words. Why would he sound so desperate if he was lying? Or was it all a ruse, just part of the larger lie?

Booth exited the booth, deciding to go double check on the squad car he had assigned to the Lancaster's residence.

But on his way to his SUV, the pay phone did something uncharacteristic: it began to ring.

Booth scanned his area, but he was the only one nearby. An elderly couple sat on a bench, waiting for a bus, and a boy of seventeen rocked his head to the music of his iPod, but no one else was around.

Again, remaining cautious, Booth reentered the telephone booth and picked up the ringing phone.

Booth was unsure of how to answer. Rather than state his name or call out one, Booth remained silent, listening to the voice at the other end of the line.

"Hello, Agent Booth," the man breathed. His voice was deep, a sweet eloquence to it. The words… the words flowed with one another, despite their casual meanings. He had a calm tone, knowing all. Booth had worked enough cases to know the voice of a sociopath when he heard one.

"Monroe," Booth stated, shading his surprise with a cooled tone.

"Tell me, Agent Booth," the voice chanted, "how does it feel to have taken Christian Lancaster's life? Does it give you a thrill?"

"I wouldn't try it if I were you," Booth threatened. "That house is surrounded. We'll catch you before you can step a foot into that house."

A smile was audible in Monroe's voice. "My presence is unnecessary, Agent Booth. Everything will fall into place, as expected."

Before Booth could demand clarification, Monroe continued his stream of words without a rush. "Tell me, Agent Booth. Have you ever heard Dr. Brennan scream?"

Booth's blood ran ice cold at the threat. Threatening Brennan was now threatening two members of his family.

"When you created your child, did she scream your name?" Monroe pressed, his pleasure becoming more audible through the phone. "When a killer pulled a gun to her temple, did she beg? How was the thrill, Agent Booth? Do you relive those moments, remembering the rush of adrenaline running through your body?"

Booth's grip tightened on the phone as he prayed to every saint that Brennan would stay out of this bastard's hands. He wanted to rush, to sprint, to break every traffic law to reach Brennan right here, right now. But he had to stay on this damn phone. He had to stay and listen to this bastard's only communication to the government in fifteen years.

Monroe took Booth's silence well. He chuckled and murmured, "I've been waiting years for today, Booth." He moaned with anticipation. "But it will all be worth it."

"You lay one finger on her," Booth threatened, his voice never so razor sharp in all of his life, "You set your pervert eyes on her, I will hunt you down and fillet you alive, Monroe. Bet on it."

Monroe chuckled. Those words were only a child's joke to him. He had done his homework, timed this perfectly. He would win. "You're the gambler, Agent Booth. But I've become an expert player in the game of Bullshit. And I call your bluff."

Booth moved to slam the phone against the cradle, but something stopped him. The sound… the familiar voice…

"Scream, Dr. Brennan," Monroe laughed.

"Booth…" Brennan moaned, her voice lost somewhere on the other end of the phone line.

"Bones," Booth said, his world blurring at the edges. He lost feeling of his body. Nothing was real. "Bones, where are you? What happened?"

"Dr. Brennan can't talk right now," Monroe laughed, coming back onto the phone line.

"I swear to God, if you hurt her or even touch her, you'll be wishing you were only rotting on death row," Booth spat, venom coating each individual word.

Monroe chuckled that disgusting laugh. "Bullshit."

The line went dead before Booth could hang up.

…

Dreams. Swirling dreams. Brennan woke with a slight jolt, falling out of her dream.

With a confused look around her living room, followed by a sigh, Brennan leaned forward and rested her pulsing, racing head in her hands. She tried to push off the dream, but it was too fresh in her mind to push away just yet.

Images of Booth being blown up, images of him bloodied and broken, images of him in the hospital, images of him in the hospital, images of him in the hospital. She was never able to reach him. She could only watch him, pained, over and over from a single frozen perspective. A wretched entanglement of emotions that battered her soul overwhelmed her completely in the dream, and now reality.

Perhaps that was why Brennan heard nothing as Monroe stealthily crept through the hallway, silencing F.B.I. agents for eternity. His methods varied. If possible, he slashed their throats with his hunter's knife from behind, but, once, he was forced into using his silenced gun.

It didn't matter much; he progressed towards Brennan's apartment, all the same.

Only at the slight clicks from Brennan's door did she look curiously towards her door.

The lock slowly began turning of its own accord.

'Booth?' her mind hoped, 'though a dim part of her remained angry at him for leaving her behind. The alternative was too frightening.

So, of course, the worse of the two was what Brennan received.

In a flash, she raced towards the door and dragged the deadbolt across it. With a look towards the peep hole, she noticed Monroe's aged and dark face grinning. Behind him, the floor was littered with bleeding-out F.B.I. agents.

Brennan hurried away from the door, forcing herself to think of where a gun would be.

No recollections appeared. Just more fear.

Her only option—the apartment's phone. She pressed a button and waited for a dial tone, but only a busy signal reached her ear.

She slammed it back into the cradle as she searched her nearby purse for her cellphone.

She was forced into listening to crackle as her door burst open.

Monroe stood in her doorway, an apologetic grin plastered to his face. In his hand, he held up a small black object. "Signal jammer."

No options. No other options. Brennan's genius brain saw no other way out of this corner, other than the basic instincts of flight or fight. With a baby to protect, her maternal instincts automatically chose flight.

With a small shout, she scrambled towards her bedroom.

Monroe smiled, enjoying the chase. He was on a euphoric high, enjoying each and every planned moment. Everything was going according to plan.

Brennan slammed her bedroom door and locked that, too. Maybe it would buy her a minute or two. A second or two?

The latter was more correct. She only had enough time to thrust her bedroom window open and begin to wedge herself to the fire escape before the door was busted inwards.

Brennan shrieked and thrashed against her attacker. She grabbed onto the window, earning bleeding splinters and a broken nail in the process of being dragged away from the sill. Brennan used her karate training, but that only bought her a second to fall to the floor and stand up again. But Monroe was too strong, and he had the advantage. He had been kidnapping women long enough to expect every move.

Why did no one hear her? Were they too frightened? Were they women alone home as well? Or was it the bystander effect all over again. The why was irrelevant at this point; they weren't coming.

"Just breathe it in, Dr. Brennan," he cooed, a slight laugh in his voice as he placed the chloroform over her mouth and nose. He sounded more like a man relaxing at the park with a friend than a serial killer kidnapping its victim. It was sickening—that ease that was so sadistically evident on his face.

Brennan struggled, but what could she do now? All escapes, all offenses were shut down. She held her breath for a good minute, but she and her baby needed oxygen.

"That's it," Monroe celebrated, stroking her hair. "Just inhale."

The world shifted to that of blackness in a matter of seconds for Dr. Brennan.

Thriving off of euphoria, Monroe lifted Brennan with a smile. As he carried Brennan to his car, he decided that it was time to make a phone call to Agent Booth…

…

Despite the sirens and overly-illegal speeding, Booth arrived at Brennan's apartment in just short of ten minutes. He could speed up time, but he was incapable of shortening the distance.

In a mad rush, Booth flew up the stairs of their… or, rather, _Brennan's_ apartment complex, taking two steps at a time.

It wasn't until he reached the hallway outside of Brennan's apartment door did a heart-sickening, anxiety filled emotion, an unnamable emotion, spread over every cell of Booth's body.

The human and protocolled agent stepped next to the lifeless men and searched for the absent heartbeat.

The emotional, wheeling, and irrational man then rushed in through the open door with a gun drawn. His training noticed that the door's frame was splintered at points, the telltale signs of a break-in.

He wanted to scream out for her. He wanted her to turn the corner with a smile, remembering exactly who she really was. He wanted a fantasy.

Stealthily, Booth rounded the kitchen, hopes diminished with her absence.

Not a single form of Brennan rounded the corner.

He crept silently through the hallway, the office, the bathroom, then, finally, the bedroom. A lamp was shattered against the floor, the cliché sign of an attack. The dresser had been shoved towards the bathroom, the pillows were scattered throughout the room, and the window was wide open. Upon a desperate hope that Brennan might be hiding in the fire escape, Booth moved closer and leaned out the window.

She wasn't there.

Upon closer inspection, dark streaks glinted in the moonlight, signaling for his attention. Booth leaned closer to it, careful not to disturb the crime scene.

Blood. Splintered wood and blood; Brennan had tried to claw for a grip, to escape this bastard's harsh clutches.

And Booth had failed her. He hadn't reached her time. He had destroyed Brennan's life for the second time in that week alone.

In a daze, Booth dialed the Hoover building and reported to his superior.

After a few minutes on the phone with Booth, never getting any descriptive details, Andrew sent a team of tech and field agents.

Booth waited in the dimly lit apartment, his mind continuously conjuring up horrible images of Brennan and their child.

The two, battered and broken.

The guilt was suffocating Booth. It was charging his mind and muscles until they reached the point of determined dedication.

Booth would find this bastard; his and his family's lives depended on it. His sense awoke with new energy, all bent on locating Brennan, and then Monroe.

All the while, the overwhelming guilt remained undisturbed as it welcomed the fiery resolve.

**Aw, poor Booth.**

**What do you guys think? Surprised? Not so much? What do you want to see next?**

**Much love, and happy Turkey Day for the U.S. (Or anyone else who wants to celebrate with us, for that matter.)**


	11. The Meetings at the Bar

**I won't delay this chapter any further.**

**Chapter 11. The Meetings at the Bar.**

"_**We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope."**_

_**-Martin Luther King, Jr. **_

Foggy.

Hazy.

Cloudy vision.

These factors wavered through Brennan's brain, making it difficult to see, making it difficult to concentrate. Brennan tried to push past the haze, but her brain had no solid footing. It was still much too clouded with chloroform to be aware of anything yet.

"Booth…" she mumbled incoherently, irrationally hoping that he would hear her soft cry.

Another voice, a calm voice that sent chills through Brennan's spine began speaking incomprehensible words.

And then Brennan was lost in the darkness again.

* * *

><p>Booth was frustrated. He was angry, he was entirely anxious, he was determined, and he was frustrated. After scouring over their—or rather, he corrected mentally, Brennan's—apartment, he had ended up with a severe deficit of evidence.<p>

Monroe had broken down Brennan's door, but no shoe print was left behind.

He must have used some type of drug, but only minute traces of it had been scattered onto the carpet. (Hodgins was processing it now.)

He must have touched something, taken something. But no finger prints were left, and nothing appeared to be missing.

Booth had nothing, nothing in so many horrible meanings of the word.

"We always bring 'em home, Booth," Cam stated, looking sorrowfully at him from her stance by the window. "We find the victim, and we bring them home."

Booth was in a slight daze as he looked up from his position on Brennan's armchair. "This is different, Cam. It's Bones, for God's sake! We can't count on anything."

Cam walked up to him, recognizing the need for a pep talk. With a hand on her hip, she said, "Seeley, Brennan has been in sticky situations before. I'm not trying to get you to take this lightly, but know that she isn't a damsel in distress out there. She can hold her own."

"She's pregnant, Cam!" Booth shot back, rising to his own feet as his emotions swelled angrily within him. "That psycho has kidnapped my kid, too! It isn't just Brennan's life we're dealing with anymore!" Even if it had been only one of the people Booth loved most, his emotions would still be in this harsh sea. Adding to the victims' list only further roughened the waters.

"Have faith, Seeley," she told him, staring at him comfortingly with her dark eyes.

Booth's eyes flickered heavenward. His silence voiced the doubt he had in her words.

"What else do you have," she asked him, wishing she wasn't the one to remind him, "if you don't have faith in them? If you won't hope for them?"

Perhaps that statement scared him more than helped him. Either way, it was the truth, and they both knew it. Booth needed to believe that they _would_ come home, safe and sound, for the appropriate actions to take place at all.

Cam saw the warm hope flood life back into Seeley's chocolate eyes, making a small smile appear at her lips.

Booth gave her a nod, turning the F.B.I. team crawling around the apartment. "Alright," he announced verbosely, "I need to know any of Monroe's last where-abouts. This is a critical missing. If you have to scour over every video camera in the city, _do it_. We've got a time stamp on this, people. Get to it."

As the forensic team quickly moved into work, a tall, graying man in an expensive suit walked through the door of the apartment. He spotted Booth easily and strode over to him with two suits on his flanks.

"Agent Booth," the man identified his target, "I would appreciate it if you withdrew from my crime scene. I won't have any evidence tainted."

Cam backed away, feeling her sudden hope in Seeley diminish. She could only watch as anger flared through Booth's features.

"Excuse me," Booth shot back hotly, "but this is _my_ crime scene. _I'll_ be calling the shots."

The graying man pointed for his men to go to the forensic team. They quickly followed his orders, having them paused in gathering the evidence.

The man then graciously allowed his time to be wasted on this conversation with Booth. "I'm Agent Darren Gorski, Senior Field Agent of the F.B.I. It has come to my understanding that this is a personal case for you, Booth. Therefore, I have been appointed to take lead in this case."

He gave a raised eyebrow to the seething Booth, challenging him to refute the statement.

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" Booth demanded hotly.

Gorski remained cool and collected despite the radiating anger Booth emitted. "I'm sure you'll receive a call soon enough."

As if on cue, Booth's cellphone rang shrilly, off-key in this heated stand-off.

Gorski let a small smirk escape as he placed a hand on Booth's shoulder. "You're just as much a victim here, Booth. Take the time to grieve." He turned and began throwing orders around, not allowing Booth to speak back.

Booth flipped open his phone to listen to his boss explain exactly what Gorski just had; Booth was a liability, too close to the case, just as much a victim. However, his boss had been much more apologetic about the whole ordeal; he had known the famous duo for a few years now.

"What do you expect me to do, sir?" Booth felt his question lacked the respect that was expected, so he threw the pleasantry on the end.

Andrew sighed. "Take some personal time, Booth. No one's settling about this; we'll be working."

Booth snorted, faintly realizing the disrespect the sound insinuated. "I can't sit on my couch just stewing, sir. I have the most insight on this case."

Andrew knew the jagged reality Booth was forced to experience, so he let the disrespect slide. "By F.B.I. regulations, I'm forced to order you to turn everything you have over to Agent Gorski."

Booth glared at the wall of Brennan's apartment, hating every single damned slice of this situation.

"But," Andrew muttered quietly through the phone, "if you happened to be walking past Al's Bar on your way home, I wouldn't be surprised if that happened to be where Monroe was last spotted. There even could be a few video cameras' footage that captured him."

Again, the hope warily returned to Booth's heart, afraid of be crushed and trampled again.

"Thanks," Booth responded hastily, in a rush to get over there before Andrew was forced to inform Gorski.

Cam watched him strut out of the apartment, hoping he would find Dr. Brennan. He needed to find her.

Many lives depended on it.

* * *

><p>Booth yanked the bar's door open, faintly attempting to keep the anxiety out of his quickened step. His eyes scanned over the few, scattered men that littered the pub as he searched for the bar tender. He found him quickly, expectedly placed behind the bar.<p>

Booth flashed his badge, giving the bald, burly man a hard stare. "Agent Gorski, F.B.I. Was there a man seen here earlier, brown hair, thirties—"

The bartender raised an unsurprised eyebrow as he continued to dry a mug. "Are you talking about that Monroe guy?"

It was Booth's turn to raise an eyebrow, but the bartender just pointed at the TV placed behind him. "The news has been flashing that guy's picture all night. Yeah, I recognized him from the guy who was here earlier."

"I'll need to see your surveillance tapes." Booth glanced at his watch, wondering how much more time he would have before the real Gorski showed up.

The bartender gave a nod and reached next to the TV where stacks of DVDs were lined. With a glance at the label, he slid it into the TV. He then grabbed the remote and fast forwarded until Monroe appeared on screen.

Booth clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Seeing this man strutting through the bar, smirking, just an hour before Brennan's disappearance. . . It made Booth's blood boil. Despite the impossibilities of it, he hoped that someone on this film would stop him, that someone would look up and stop the potential danger.

Of course, no one did. Monroe sat idly at a bar stool, sipping a glass of tonic and gin. After finishing his single drink, he stood and grinned at the camera, knowing exactly where to look.

Booth's knuckles grew whiter as he resisted the urge to punch the television set.

Monroe then flashed a white square at the screen before casually placing it on a window sill. He then walked out as fluidly as he came.

Booth's eyes darted toward the window, noticing that the white square was still there. He walked over and snatched the plain white, folded paper up.

In neat, clean scrawl, the paper read:

_Thank you._

"'Thank you?'" Booth repeated incredulously. The pleasantry caused even more anger to flare through Booth's system. Thank you for what? Having his partner and child kidnapped?

The bartender saw Booth's rage and decided to quietly continue drying the glasses. A smart move.

Booth stuffed the lead into his coat pocket and moved to march out of the bar, but his eyes noticed a familiar face; after all, it was a Tuesday.

Booth slammed himself onto the booth's cushion next to the familiar man. "Mr. Smith?"  
>The crazed blue eyes snapped up at Booth in shock. Momentary recognition registered on his face, but he still edged away from the agent. "Yes?"<p>

"Agent Booth with the F.B.I. Remember me?"

The man gave a cautious nod.

Booth slammed a photo of Monroe onto the table. "Did you see this man earlier?"

"Mr. Smith" warily leaned over and stared at Daniel Monroe's face. After a moment, he shook his head. "I've never seen this man in my life! Never!"

Booth refused to let his hope fall. "You're sure?" He nudged the picture towards the man.

With pursed lips, "Mr. Smith" bent back over the photo, scrutinizing the image. A dim recognition flickered through his features. "Well, I, uh, did see that guy once. . ."

Booth forced himself to remain erect and not lean forward eagerly. "Where?"

"Last week, the night all a those bodies just up 'n' piled up," he admitted.

Booth forced the anger out of his system; he needed more information first. "Why wasn't this mentioned before?"

"It, it was dim!" he responded pleadingly. "I couldn't see. . . I couldn't see. . ." His eyes left reality as they focused on the memory of a hooded figure walking down the alley. It had only been a fleeting smirk towards "Mr. Smith." He hadn't been sure. . . He didn't know. . . He couldn't see. . .

Booth sighed and fished into his pocket for his wallet and a pad of paper. "Look, Mr. Smith, I need your name. You're a witness."

"Mr. Smith" snapped back to reality and saw the pen and paper being nudged towards him. He scooted away fearfully. "No! No! I don't wanna be apart of this! No!"

Booth sighed again, knowing he couldn't force this man to come in; he had been an innocent bystander.

He noticed the bowl of soup lying before "Mr. Smith." He reached for his wallet, and offered, "Let me pay that for you. Just call me if you remember anything or see anyone you remember. Do you still have my card?"

Booth had been busy fishing a five out of his wallet, so he hadn't noticed "Mr. Smith"'s lost gaze, staring at a picture on Booth's wallet. He looked up and followed the confused stare, a knot forming in his stomach when he did so.

"I remember her," Mr. Smith mumbled softly, pointing at Brennan's happy face. This had been before the accident, just after she announced her pregnancy.

Booth gave a curt nod as he moved to put the wallet back in his pocket. "She's my partner, Dr. Brennan. She was at the crime scene that night you were there. She's missing."  
>Mr. Smith reached out and stopped Booth's progressing hand. "I remember her. I saw her! She, she was just outside."<p>

This caught Booth's attention earnestly. "When? Where?"

"Mr. Smith" pointed at the street outside of the bar. "She got into a car. 'Was. . ." His forehead wrinkled as he fought to remember. "'Was a few minutes before you walked in."

Booth leaned towards him. "Do you remember anything else? Was anyone with her?"

"Mr. Smith" wracked his brain. "She. . . she had someone with her. 'Couldn't tell who. They were in a cream Cadillac. . . I owned a those, once. . ." He became lost in another memory.

"Which way did they go?" Booth demanded, needing his attention for a few moments longer.

"Mr. Smith" snapped back to the present. "They, uh, they came outta that building." He pointed to the building across the street. His bushy, grey eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I don't remember 'em leavin'. . ."

Booth's head snapped up, just in time to see a cream coloured Cadillac speeding down the street.

Without a thought, without another wasted moment, Booth sprang out from the table and sprinted into the street. He saw the car, driving away at an impossibly fast speed. The taillights' red glow dimmed much too quickly.

There was no physical way to catch them on foot.

If Booth shot at the car, Brennan could be injured. Besides who was to say it was absolutely her and Monroe?

Booth raced to his SUV, parked just around the corner and hurried to start the engine. He was up and away from the curve without a proper traffic check. He slapped the siren on and prayed to God that he could find them again.

Gorski watched as the black SUV flew by, siren blaring. His back-up glanced at him, but he shrugged. "Whoever it is can handle it."

He then marched into Joe's bar, right up to the bald, burly bartender. "Agent Gorski, F.B.I. I understand there was a fugitive sighting here earlier this night?"

Joe, the bartender, squinted at Gorski's credentials, clearly confused. "An Agent Gorski already came by. I showed him everything. Can't you talk to him?"

Confusion and outrage flashed across Gorski's face. Then understanding came to him. "Excuse me." Without another word, he marched outside, dialing with his cellphone, but he only got Booth's voicemail.

* * *

><p><strong><em>*Meanwhile*<em>**

Her head had refused to stop the swirling, the mixing, and the hammering. The images her eyes saw were confusing, but, slowly, they began to right themselves. . .

And with the sudden sights, her nausea flooded back as well. Lying on a couch, she rolled to her side and vomited all over the cracked wood floor.

The sound alerted Monroe. With a wicked, loving, twisted grin, he walked into the room. "Good. You're up."

Brennan wiped her mouth in disgust as she eyed her captor, all of the memories coming back to her now.

"We really need to get moving," he informed her with a nod to himself. He then replaced duct tape over her mouth before pulling her to her feet.

She pulled away from his touch, but was then forced to lean into it; the rapid stand caused another wave of vertigo to wash over her.

Monroe took this opportunity to quickly grab her hands behind her and tie her wrists together.

All the same, she pulled away from him as she tried to assess where the hell she was.

"Don't fight it, love," he murmured in her ear after securing the bounds. "Our family has yet to even begin."

With a rough shove, she stumbled forward. Monroe kept his hand on her arm and began dragging her out the door.

She was dragged out of the hallway, down the staircase, and then into the lobby.

How the hell was no one around? How did no one see her being taken against her will?

It was when she was dragged onto the rather empty sidewalk that she saw the notice on the apartment complex's door; the building had been vacated for a termite inspection.

Brennan was forced into the passenger side of a cream coloured Cadillac. Perhaps, if she was not still battling those damned waves of vertigo, she would have truly fought her captor. Of course, she struggled against him, but it was never enough to get away.

The door was slammed on her, but before she could fully consider making a quick run for it, Monroe pulled out his gun in warning.

Like a predator, he kept his eyes on his prey as he slowly circled the front of the car to the driver's side. His gun was drawn, twitching stealthily all the while.

As he slid into the driver's seat and closed the door, he looked tenderly at Brennan. "I wouldn't want to hurt you. Of course, I wouldn't kill you. But you must learn to accept me somehow. I know; it will be difficult at first, but. . ." His cold fingers brushed hair away from Brennan's cheek, making her shiver. "I think you'll find that you love me."

In response to his psychotic words, she protested the only way she could by yanking her face back from his touch.

A spark of hurt and anger was lighted in his eyes, but he quickly stomped the emotions out. "Be advised," he murmured carefully, "I will shoot you anywhere I see fit if you try to go back to _him_."

Monroe's eyes focused on something outside the car, and Brennan was forced to follow his gaze.

There, just on the other side of the street, Booth marched down the sidewalk, lost in his determined thoughts.

She tried to yell his name; she knew if he only heard, she would be able to get out of this alive. But Booth carried on ignorantly.

Monroe pulled Brennan against him, pushing his hand against her duct taped mouth to muffle her dim shouts. In her ear, he breathed, "Shh. We just watch."

He waited until Booth turned into the bar to let Brennan straighten herself. As a constant warning, he continued to point the gun's barrel at Brennan.

They waited, watching as Booth watched the TV, found the note, and talked to people. He never saw Brennan, despite her desperate, desperate hopes.

Occasionally, Monroe would speak lovingly to Brennan; it seemed he could not go without the sound of his voice for too long. "I'm so glad we're finally together, Temperance. It's been such a long wait, but so very worth it.

"You can't imagine what it was like to have to be with women who never measured up to all that you are. I tried to find women that shared your physical attributes, but it was in vain." He leaned forward and murmured with a smile, "They would lack your intelligence—an intelligence to match mine. Or they wouldn't smell the same." He closed his eyes and inhaled Brennan's aroma. "Such a sweet smell. . ."

All the while, Brennan had been slowly moving into a crouch, an offensive position. But, she had never turned to him; she couldn't allow her eyes to leave Booth. She did glance in disgust at Monroe's pleased expression, an expression lost in euphoria. . .

Now was her chance, she realized. She had to act now.

With a quick kick to the gut, Monroe was snapped out of his trance. His eyes stared at Brennan as she delivered another kick to his head, despite the cramped conditions.

She scrambled to flee from the car. She used her bound hands to open and push against the car door, managing to open it a fraction of the way. She quickly turned back around to leap out.

However, Monroe was much too determined to allow his life's purpose to simply walk out on him. Like a snake's strike, his arm shot out and latched onto the back of Brennan's blouse. He wrenched her back, and she gave a muffled cry.

In the moment of adrenaline, in that opportunity of alertness, something in Temperance Brennan's mind clicked. Where haze lingered, remembrance flooded and washed. Seven of her years, previously stripped from her mind, came into focus and left her dumbfounded.

Of course, not all of her memories had returned to her. There were still a few blank holes to fill. Yet, it no longer felt as if those years had never existed anymore. They were fuzzy, but they were there.

This whole, life-changing moment happened in less than a minute. Monroe had no clue what had made the anthropologist stop fighting and stare, shocked, at the empty road. All he knew was that Booth's head just snapped up in the Cadillac's direction.

"We've been made," Monroe announced, quickly pulling into the street. He fled down the road, not allowing himself to look back yet.

Brennan snapped back to her senses, still struggling to press what had just happened together. She was strangely terrified, something that did not occur often. And, even more of a rarity, she was confused.

When Monroe allowed himself to glance into his rearview mirror, he caught sight of a black, F.B.I.-issued SUV pulling onto the street.

**Again, again, and again, I am so sorry for these extended delays! Tackling two stories and a full course of advanced classes has sucked away my time.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews I have received! I would reply to them now, but I have a feeling that the reviewers wouldn't even remember leaving me a comment. Please know that I am forever grateful for those, the alerts, and your time in reading my stories. Thank you!**

**Please, if you have time, let me know what you thought. I promise to try to update much more than I have!**

**P.S. Thank you greatly to Jewelbe11! Your too kind words were a well-deserved kick in the butt for me to finish up and post.**


	12. The Incident on the Interstate

**Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! **

**Sorry.**

**Chapter 12. The Incident on the Interstate.**

"_**And if you cannot remain indifferent, you must resolve to throw your weight into that balance in which the fate and condition of man is weighed."**_

_**-Lajos Kossuth **_

Brennan scrambled to get ahold of herself. No matter what had happened before, she needed to get herself out of this situation.

However, despite her wishes, Monroe continued to point his weapon dangerously at Dr. Brennan's abdomen.

Reason came to her, a welcome friend. It seemed that reason had left her during these past couple of weeks.

First, she needed to undo her binds. There was no way she could reason with him if she couldn't even open her mouth.

When she began struggling against the rope, Monroe glanced at her. Despite his strong hold on remaining calm, a bud of anxiety was sprouting from his eyes. "Keep still, Temperance. I'll get us out of this."

She ignored him, continuing to loosen the knot that tied her wrists together. It wasn't very tight like it should have been; Monroe hadn't wanted to cause his love anymore pain than was necessary.

This caused frustration to infiltrate Monroe's perfect calm. He shoved the barrel of the gun against the skin in Brennan's side. "Hold still!" he hissed.

Brennan held her ground, never shrinking away from the dangerous weapon. However, her frame remained tightly erect and motionless to continue to slowly untie the knot; Monroe's tempered shouldn't be tempted further.

With a careful glance at Brennan, Monroe pulled his gun away from her and placed his eyes onto the road. With a look to his rear view mirror, he saw Booth right behind the Cadillac, talking anxiously into a walkie-talkie.

* * *

><p>Booth had managed to catch up to Monroe, but there wasn't much he could do now. If he shot at the car, Brennan could become injured. If he ran the car off the road, Brennan could become injured.<p>

Booth fished next to his seat for his walkie-talkie. He picked it up and demanded, "Where the hell is that backup? I've been on this guy for five minutes now!"

After a few seconds, someone muttered, "Backup will arrive shortly. Keep on 'em. We've got a helicopter on route."

Booth threw the walkie-talkie back down as Monroe's Cadillac sped up, reaching just over ninety miles per hour.

"Dammit," Booth muttered to himself, his hands clenching the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. He was so close, he could see Brennan and Monroe inside of the Cadillac, but there was no other option but to follow them until one stopped or ran out of gas. With a glance to the SUV's half empty fuel tank, Booth desperately hoped that Monroe would run out of fuel soon.

* * *

><p>Monroe saw his fuel tank: less than a quarter of a tank left. He had to shake Booth or die trying.<p>

After another minute, Brennan's binding ropes loosened. She threw the slack rope from her wrists, but then thought better of it. She picked the rope back up into her hands, holding it tautly.

One chance. It was all she had.

Before Monroe could see it coming, Brennan launched herself at him. She quickly wrapped the cord around his neck, pulling it tightly.

Monroe lost his hold on the steering wheel, swerving into the other lane.

Monroe struggled against Brennan; she was fiercely pulling at the rope, knowing that this situation was entirely too close to death. Her life, her child's life balanced on her coming out the victor.

However, as a semi-truck swerved franticly out of the way of Monroe's Cadillac, it skidded into the car tailing: Booth's SUV.

From Brennan's seat, all she heard was a sudden sharp and brutal crunch of metal.

That quick, heart-stopping moment was all it took for Monroe to reclaim the upper-hand of the situation. With a quick snap of the wrist, he slammed the butt of the gun into the back of Brennan's skull, effectively rendering her unconscious.

He righted the steering wheel, hurrying to return to the proper lane before the car ran off the road.

After a few moments of silence and recaptured calm, Monroe glanced in his review mirror to see Booth's SUV broken and unnaturally connected with the overpowering truck.

* * *

><p>Booth watched anxiously as the cream Cadillac swerved out of the lane. From his seat, all he could see was a flash of brown hair, then more swerving.<p>

With his eyes focused on Brennan and his child, Booth hadn't paid attention to the danger he was now placed in. A frightened, bearding man was stomping on his brake, attempting to not lead his massive vehicle right into Booth.

He saw the truck at the last moment. He stomped on the brake himself as he pulled hard on the steering wheel. This gave his SUV just the right momentum to skid to the left and be plowed into from the passenger's side.

The impact hit immediately. The airbags deployed in Booth's face, knocking the air out of his lungs. He hit his head on the side of the door, but managed to avoid major injury because of the protection that encompassed him. He had been greatly lucky that the truck driver was braking before-hand.

After a stunned moment of sitting with blood dripping from his forehead, Booth pounded the airbags back down. He unbuckled and reached for the door, stumbling out after he did so.

The other man scrambled out of his truck, hardly a scratch on him. His vehicle was towering over Booth's, clearly the victor in this undesired fight.

"I'm so sorry, man!" he yelled to Booth, adrenaline fueling his veins. "I was swerving away from the other car! I didn't even see you!"

Booth was really paying attention to the man's words; he was watching helplessly as the Cadillac became nothing more than a dim red light.

He turned to the truck driver, looking the truck over. "Does your truck still work?" he asked out of desperation.

The driver looked at his truck then back at Booth. He shook his head. "I doubt it, man. I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do. Are you OK? I'm calling 911."

Booth ignored the ramblings; he was still determined beyond reason. With the keys still in the ignition, he mounted the stair and climbed into the cab.

He revved the engine; he pulled the gear into reverse. But after several unsuccessful attempts of pushing on the gas, Booth slammed his hand against the steering wheel with a curse.

He had been so close, so damn close! Was there a damned curse following him, hovering over him, affecting those he loved? What piece of karma had he stumbled over to deserve this?

As Booth mourned from inner hatred, the man stood anxiously outside of his truck, having finished his conversation with the 911 operator. "The engine's fried, man."

Booth looked up and jumped out of the cab. Without a glance at the man, he dialed Hodgins's number. Booth knew that this man really hadn't meant any harm, but Booth couldn't accept that just yet. He had been too close.

"Booth!" Hodgins answered anxiously. "What the hell is going, man? Brennan's been kidnapped?"

Booth wiped a weary hand over his face, realizing that he hadn't even bothered to inform some of their best friends about Brennan's abduction. He really needed to pull it together.

"Look, Hodgins, I'll explain it all, but right now I need you to drive out to Interstate 55…"

**So this chapter accomplished one of the four major plot points I have left… Well, there will be more to come! Hah Sorry, I just wanted to post something and divide it up a bit—the ending is going to need its own chapter.**

**Sorry, as always and forever, for the extended delays. I try to post, I promise I do. The next few chapters become more heated, so I will do my best to type them up and post!**

**Let me know what you thought.**


	13. The Discoveries at the Farm House

**Chapter 13. The Discoveries at the Farm House.**

"_**Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at it destination full of hope."**_

_**-Maya Angelou**_

Brennan's mind was so hazy. It seemed as if it always was these days. So many drugs, so much confusion, hurt, and injuries… her mind wanted to finally power off and recover.

But Brennan had never lacked the strength to give up. Even when she was alone, being promised death by unknown enemy soldiers, she never gave up. It had never been in her genetic make-up.

So, despite the fatigue that held her close, she peeled her eyes open and woke up. With lethargic eyes, she scanned this… room? Dungeon was a more appropriate term for this hole of a basement. Brennan looked around the cement room, only seeing walls, floor, and a staircase.

She positioned herself to sit up, but was unable to move at all; her wrists and ankles had been bound with leather cords to the legs of the metal table she laid upon.

Brennan was awake now, memories flooding back. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing as waves of adrenaline pumped through her blood stream.

This feeling of lying on a cool table made her feel much like a patient in her line of occupation. She was a person laid down upon a cool, steel slab. A victim, a corpse.

Brennan fought her grimace and tried not to think about death. Not right now. For her sake, for her baby's sake, she must not expect premature deaths. To stay alive, positive thoughts were necessary.

Booth. He was her mind's instant go-to for moments of distress and longing of relief. If he were here, even if he were unable to help her in any way, she would feel calmer, more in control. He would know what to say, what to do. In no way was Temperance Brennan lacking the knowledge to think her way out of situations, but Booth was more than the wisdom needed to escape sticky situations. He was a safe harbor, guiding her away from hardships with a smile. She would be able to live on her own, but she would be able to thrive with him.

The internal façade had begun to take effect. Her heartbeat began to slow, their child's heart was not quite as frantic. At least, until the sound of methodical footsteps echoed louder and louder to her ears.

Monroe had to stop himself from sighing at the sight of her. Seven years he had waited for today. And now, he got to reap all of the glory.

Brennan's heartbeat sped alongside her daughter's.

* * *

><p>Jack Hodgins had faced many rough waters in lifetime. He had faced a childhood of teasing, traveled the world, dived in the deepest seas, lost his best friend, and watched loved ones die around him. He was not an ignorant man, but, in all his years, he had never seen anyone as blindly-outraged as Seeley Booth.<p>

Booth's face was hard and solid. His eyes didn't watch the road, but consumed the road. He was desperately, angrily determined, and after Booth had explained the situation to Hodgins, he had deflected all of Hodgins's irrelevant questions; he just needed Brennan and his baby back.

The speedometer never inched off of ninety miles per hour, worrying the hell out of Hodgins. If Booth had revealed how much this determination had consumed him when flying into the driver's seat, Hodgins would have never reluctantly handed over the keys to the red sports car. Well, perhaps he would have; he didn't want to think about Booth coming at him with a gun. Would he come at him with a gun? Booth's present expression suggested a definite yes.

"Booth," Hodgins pled again. "Come on, man. Slow down. Killing us won't save Brennan."

The words never reached Booth.

After a couple silent, seething moments, Hodgins opened his mouth to try again. It was at that moment that Booth yanked on the steering wheel, speeding the car sideways in front of a foreign country house. At least, it appeared foreign to Hodgins.

Booth stomped out of the sports car without a backwards glance.

Hodgins, cursing the world, hastily unbuckled himself and jumped out as well. He hurried to catch up to Booth, who was already pulling the Lancasters' front door wide open.

"Booth, wait," Hodgins attempted to caution his friend.

Booth remained blind. His eyes scanned the living room he had visited earlier that day, noticing all of the upturned tables and chairs. Papers were strewn about, ceramic mugs had been shattered and spilled cold coffee. By the door, a single duffle bag had been hastily packed and left.

Hodgins was still absorbing the crime scene when Booth slowly started making his way to an alcove of a kitchen.

And in the kitchen, bleeding out on the cluttered floor, Christian Lancaster laid.

Booth stepped over the mess and checked for a pulse. There was none.

He clenched his fists in anger, trying to ration the hopelessness that instantly surged into his system. Christian had been Booth's last clue, last chance to finding out where Brennan was. Now, Monroe had stripped Booth of that hope with a single bullet to Christian's chest.

"Where is she?" Booth demanded of Christian's corpse, of the universe. He fought pathetic tears of outrage, panic, and anxiety. He needed Brennan. He needed Bones. He needed her back.

"Booth," Hodgins said softly. "I just called in for back up. They're on their way."

Booth gave a sharp nod. He hadn't even noticed Hodgins making the call.

"He had a family," Hodgins noted, looking at a Lancaster family portrait. "Monroe may have taken them, too."

Booth looked to the single duffle bag at the door. "Or they escaped." Booth walked toward the bag and unzipped it. Only men's apparel and hygiene items were apparent.

"It looks like Melanie and Dane Lancaster were able to get out while they could," Hodgins agreed.

Booth squinted his eyes, not quite believing it. He didn't believe someone as domineering as Christian Lancaster would encourage his family to go out into the world without him.

"OK, we know Monroe had to have killed him—Kyle Gates is still in jail," Hodgins voiced his thoughts. "With Monroe's kidnapping of Brennan, the window to kill this guy is incredibly small. He has to be somewhere close."

Despite the possibility of Monroe now driving to some deserted land, Booth wanted to believe it. He wanted to feel that Brennan was just in a basement underneath the house—had there been one, patiently waiting for him. If she was just close—

"Close," Booth repeated the word, turning it over in his mouth. "Christian would need to keep his family close until he gave them the all clear."

Booth stepped out the door of the house and scanned the area. Besides the out-of-place sports car, only weeds and a tricycle reined this barren land. But, as he went farther behind the country house, a small shed was barely visible in a sea of weeds.

Booth hurried through the brush, fighting some rather large branches as the shed became larger in his view. Soft sobs echoed to Booth, trying worry and pity in his heart.

As he pulled the flimsy wooden door open, he couldn't help but wish desperately for Brennan to be safe and sound, just on the other side of this door. But, of course, she was not.

Melanie, clutching her little boy close to her chest, flinched as the door was pulled open. At the sight of Agent Booth, her fear melted into relief.

"You're OK," Booth comforted them, offering his hand to pull them from their crouch on the dirt floor. "We've got you."

Melanie couldn't stop the small cries and tears from dripping down her face. "That man you were looking for, Daniel-he was here! We had to hide, but Chris never came! We couldn't leave him!"

Booth held the shaking woman in his arms, trying to comfort her with his sorrowed heart. "You're safe now, Mrs. Lancaster."

She nodded around her cries, still clutching her son to her side.

"Was anyone with Monroe?" Booth asked the necessary questions as he continued to comfort her. "Did you see anyone else?"

Melanie shook her head. "He was barging into our house when Dane and I ran. I only saw him for second… someone may have been in the car… I don't know.

"Please," she begged, looking into Booth's brown eyes. "Where's Chris? Is he inside?"

Just then, the FBI team and paramedics came to their sides, having already been on their way here to question Christian Lancaster. An EMT began escorting the Lancasters away from Booth and Hodgins.

Booth pursed his lips with a pitying expression. He didn't want to merely mention the death of her husband as she was being pulled away. Someone needed to sit with her and break the news.

Melanie became more worried. She looked to the nearest EMT and anxiously inquired, "Please, have you seen my husband? Where is he?"

Hodgins stepped up to Booth, a fire sparked in his eyes. "Booth. We've got something." He held out his smart phone, where the results of a lab, long forgotten by Booth, had been sent.

Booth stared at the screen, more impossible hope trickling into his heart.

"The leaf found on Alexia Livingston's shoe has been IDed," he proclaimed, unable to fight a growing grin. "It's a leaf from a Round Leaf Birch—only native in minute areas of Virginia. Out of all of Virginia's foliage, the area that has these leaves is…" He trailed off with his grin, beginning to actually calculate the ratio of Round Leaf Birch tree to other plant life.

Booth gripped his shoulder pulling him back into reality. "We know where Brennan is?"

Hodgins gave a nod, unable to suppress his grin. "We know where Brennan is."

**Thanks for reading! I'm going to wrap it up within the next chapter, so stay tuned! Either today or tomorrow, the conclusion will be given. (Thank God for Spring Break.)**

**Thank you so much for sticking patiently with me! I love you all!**

**(Who else is dying of excitement for tonight's episode?) :))**

**Reviews are encouraged**


	14. The Hope in the Partner

**Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and subscribing! I would love to hear from all of you after this concluding chapter! :)**

**Chapter 14. The Hope in the Partner.**

"_**A moment lasts all of a second,**_

_**but the memory lives on forever."**_

_**-Unknown**_

Monroe grinned at his prize. "Temperance, I've been waiting for you for… so long." He breathed out the last words, stepping closer to her.

Brennan hated this. She felt so vulnerable and exposed, unable to shield neither her child nor herself. She struggled against the binds subtly, but Monroe paid no attention; he deserved this moment far too much.

His fingers swept over her flushed cheek, and she tried to pull away. There was no escaping his eyes, his touch.

He leaned forward and inhaled the scent of her hair. With a dazed expression, he smiled. "I've missed you, Temperance."

Brennan used this moment to her advantage, quickly head-butting him with as much force as she could muster.

Monroe stumbled backwards, clutching his now bleeding nose. He had been snapped out of his haze, bringing him back into Brennan's reality.

Brennan glared at him, her head throbbing. She felt her daughter flutter inside of her as both of their hearts raced. It surprised her; she had never felt her child move inside of her until this moment. Her eyes flew to her abdomen, relishing in this beautiful, stunning moment.

Monroe didn't let her enjoy that moment for long.

"Temperance, what is wrong?" he murmured, falling back into his stupor. He stepped towards her once more.

Brennan turned her head away, forcing herself to stare at a blank cement wall. It was a better sight than Monroe.

But Monroe would have none of that. With a scowl, he grabbed her chin forcefully and demanded he look at her. This wasn't how he envisioned the start of their life together; he thought Brennan would understand all he had was love and admiration for her.

"I love you, Temperance," he told her through gritted teeth. "We belong together—our IQs, our interests, our understandings are perfectly suited."

"You can't force me to stay here," Brennan pointed out the obvious. "Your logic is in no way sound; you cannot force a person to willing be confined."

Monroe released her jaw and stepped back a bit to stare at her fully. "Perhaps, not yet. But…" he then placed his hand on her stomach, crossing more lines than Brennan realized she had, "when our baby is born, we can finally be a family. Together."

His words sent splinters of ice through Brennan's system as she remained trapped under his grasp.

* * *

><p>"Where now?" Booth demanded anxiously of Hodgins. They had been on the road for a good fifteen minutes now, achieving nothing quickly.<p>

Hodgins was video conferencing with Angela on his cell phone. After informing her of the results, she had mapped out exact locations of where the Round Leaf Birch tree could be found. They had narrowed it down to five specific locations.

"Left in a mile," Angela spoke, staring at the Angelatron.

Booth pressed the gas pedal of the sports car impossibly faster. An FBI car and ambulance followed, but were a good five minutes behind the speedy automobile.

After a couple more high tension moments filled with Hodgins and Angela murmuring comforts to one another, the red car skidded left, farther down a dirt path.

"Go for straight for two more miles. That's the spot," Angela promised.

Hope came to Booth again. Over and over, it came and disappeared, came and disappeared. Why must it always vanish so cruelly? Why, oh why, could it not gently fade into relief and happiness?

Hodgins and Angela's conversation faded out, both two anxious to do anything but wait.

The two miles came in a blur. Booth cut the lights and fled the vehicle, scanning the area for any buildings or disturbances.

"Do you see anything?" Angela murmured to Hodgins.

He shook his head.

Booth clutched his hope to him as he searching the deserted land.

Hodgins approached one of the few trees located in this desert land and touched the round leaves. "This is the Round Leaf Birch tree."

Booth started from there, stomping his way through the brush to find anything.

He saw nothing, heard nothing. But that didn't stop him from looking for his Bones. Because, really, she was his bones—a vital part of the body, used to maintain every aspect of life. She was a vital necessity to him.

The FBI team and ambulance pulled up three minutes later, right as Booth's hope fell to the ground again. No one, besides them, had been here in quite some time.

"Agent Booth?" one of the agents questioned for direction.

Booth glanced at him, knowing that Brennan's and their child's chances for survival dwindled away with each tick of the clock. "Next location."

With Hodgins hurrying into the passenger seat, Booth slid into the sports car and sped back onto the dirt road.

* * *

><p>Brennan stared at the ceiling from her metal slab, wondering what Booth was doing. She wasn't sure he had even noticed her absence yet. How long had she been missing? Things over that past couple of days were rather… hazy. She remembered… a crime scene… all those bodies under dumpsters. It was so dark. She remembered her head hurting, Booth's arms, their bed… What had happened?<p>

Monroe, having stepped out of the room a few minutes ago, came back down the stairs with a grin and a glass of water. "I brought something for you."

He neared closer to her, offering her the water.

Reluctantly, Brennan accepted it. Before the water had even reached her lips, she could smell something strange from within the solution.

"What is this?" she questioned, pulling the liquid away from her mouth.

Monroe grinned sheepishly, having been caught. "A mild sedative. You need to get your sleep for tomorrow."

Brennan forced herself to reign in her emotions as she pulled the glass away from her lips. "What's occurring tomorrow?" She dared herself to ask.

Monroe smiled at her, his cold fingers pressing—prodding-against the flesh of her cheek. "Tomorrow we'll start our new lives together. We'll get away from here."

Brennan wouldn't let herself cry. She wouldn't let herself express any emotion.

But fear reined her body. She knew if Booth didn't find her soon, he never would.

* * *

><p>"Um…" Angela stared at her computer screen, trying to get a closer image of the next site.<p>

"Angela, when do I turn?" Booth inquired anxiously.

She tapped the screen more frantically.

"Angela?" Booth's nerves were getting the better of him, causing Hodgins to turn the phone's screen back towards himself.

"Ange, is it close?" he asked.

After a couple more taps, she shot back, "Turn right!"

"Now?" Booth demanded.

"TURN RIGHT NOW!" Angela answered, the anxiety becoming overwhelming.

Booth skidded right far too quickly, causing Hodgins to clutch onto the roof of the car.

"Two more miles," Angela promised.

Hodgins watched fearfully as the speedometer inched past one-ten.

"Here!" Angela informed them just after a minute of speeding through the desert.

After nearly speeding into the exact tree they were tracking, Booth stomped on the brake and yanked on the steering wheel. The two, or three, spun out and skidded to the side, narrowly missing the tree.

"Maybe you should cool it, Booth," Hodgins suggested, adrenaline filling his nearly shot system.

Booth ignored him and began searching the area, again starting from the tree.

But, like before, nothing was to be found except for the tree.

"Maybe I should drive," Hodgins offered passively. He still feared the gun holstered to the FBI agent.

Booth slid into the driver's seat, forcing Hodgins to reluctantly slide back into the passenger side for the third location.

Booth was becoming mechanical now, seeing the fuel tank decreasing and knowing the sunrise was less than an hour away. Once the dawn had been broken, who was to say Monroe wouldn't be leaving for a new location, if he hadn't already?

The speedometer inched past one-twenty.

* * *

><p>Monroe walked half way up the stairs, peering onto the floor above. Satisfied with something, he walked back down the stairs and sat in a metal chair next to Brennan. He didn't move; he just watched her with a grin, his chin rested on his propped arm.<p>

Brennan glanced at him periodically, seeing no change. Hating being an ant trapped under his magnifying glass, she turned her head back towards the blank wall.

"This is all for you, you know," he murmured to her.

The past few days, along with the details of this case, were distant and hazy. She assumed that Monroe was now connected to those serial killings, but the details were fuzzy.

She didn't want to feed his ego and prod into his obviously cryptic suggestions. However, after a few moments, the scientist couldn't let her curiosity remain ignored.

"What is?" she asked, her raw voice cracking. She glanced at the tempting water in her hand, but refused to drink the sedative. If she did, sleep would overcome her and end it all. Everything.

"Drink," he encouraged, nodding towards the drink. "It will calm you and our baby."

Brennan fought the chills rising at his possessive pronoun. There was no way she could ever agree to raising a child, her child, Booth's child, with this monster.

"Let me go, Dane," she murmured, turning her head. She couldn't recall his exact name.

Dark anger flashed in his eyes. "It's Daniel."

Brennan glanced at him with her distant blue eyes, envisioning her future with Booth, the future she needed.

Daniel glared at her, trying to make her see him, but she turned her head back toward the blank wall.

In a fit of anger, Monroe sprang out of his chair and latched onto Brennan's jaw. He turned her face towards him, grabbing her soft cheeks much too roughly. "It was all for you! Do you understand what we have? What we will have?" His grip released her jaw, turning into a caress of her bruising flesh. "We're a perfect match, Dr. Brennan. Temperance." Her name was spoken with a sadistic, possessive reverence.

Brennan's grip on the glass tightened, but she didn't allow herself to use her weapon. Not yet. Instead, she used a biting weapon. "Go to hell, Dane."

The searing temper erupted in his eyes, and then his hands. His fist was flung out to punch Brennan across the mouth.

Satisfied with the bit of blood dripping out of her lips, he reached down and began refastening the gag around her mouth, tighter than before. "We'll just have to keep you a mute until you realize our future."

Brennan fought to keep her fears from representing themselves in tears. Monroe didn't deserve the satisfaction of striking emotions in her heart.

Now that she was silent, Monroe went back to stroking her cheek. "I want to show you something."

Brennan had no choice but to wait, adrenaline and all, as Monroe went upstairs, retrieved something, and came back down. In his hands, he held a photo album.

Without looking at her, he scooted closer to her and opened it. A reminiscent smirk smothered his face.

A woman, pale and wide-eyed with fear, stared at the camera. Her features had an obvious, eerily so, resemblance to Dr. Brennan. One might know her as the first victim or Alexia Livingston.

"She was the first one," he murmured. "I knew I would have to wait for you, and I tried. For six years, I tried. But it wasn't enough; I needed a replacement—temporarily, of course. I had to cut her hair a bit. She lasted a few days, but she was so mundane!" He glared at the poor woman's photo. "She knew nothing of science! She only knew damned art. My anger got the better of me with her."

He flipped the page as Brennan's stomach dropped.

Rebecca Hurston, with a cry evident on her mouth, screamed at the camera. Her appearance matched Brennan, straight to the clothing she wore. Brennan wondered if Monroe had forced them into the clothing she would wear.

"The second Temperance. Kyle helped me find her in a martial arts class." Monroe smiled distantly, reminiscing. "I remember when you trained in karate. That was before the rather large ordeal with the Gravedigger… She was an awful woman, deserving death in the most brutal way."

Brennan wanted to close her eyes, but her dreams of a future with Booth were sinking; Monroe's sadistic fantasies—and realities—had infiltrated her mind.

"This one lacked rational qualities…" he murmured turning the page to another frightened Brennan.

"Something about her was just off… It irked me to even look at her." He hastily flipped the page.

"She was much too loud, always speaking ignorantly."

"She fought too much. I had to put her down."

Brennan's disgust and fear clawed at her internally, hating how he was attempting to rationalize these poor women's deaths so brutally. These poor women who only had the misfortune of looking like her.

"I considered plastic surgery for a bit," he muttered absently. "I only needed to find a surgeon for the right price…"

Brennan moaned, unable to stand any bit of this any longer. She squeezed her eyes shut and considered praying for Booth to come. Anything to reach his arms.

Monroe petted her cheek. "But you're here now," he reassured himself. "That option is no longer necessary."

He planted a kiss to her cheek, infesting her skin with a poison she wanted to suppress more than any other true toxin.

* * *

><p>Booth's foot was numb for pressing the gas pedal so harshly for so long. But every time it began inching off, he forced it right back. He forced himself to never stop until Bones was back.<p>

"Are we close?" Booth questioned a weary Angela. He couldn't help but notice the low battery life on Hodgins's phone.

Angela nodded. "Thirty miles left."

Booth turned back to the road, only to have his cell phone ring. With a glance at the caller ID, he saw Gorski's name. He ignored the call.

The hope returned again, making Booth wonder how many more times he could wish so frequently and painfully before his heart collapsed.

The hope grew all the same, rekindling his nearly absent adrenaline.

* * *

><p>Monroe ducked out of the room and mounted the stairs, seeing something that brought a grin to his face.<p>

He rushed back down the stairs and snatched Brenan's glass—and only weapon—out of her hands. "The sun's up, Temperance. We have to get moving if we're going to reach our new home today."

Brennan's heart fluttered fearfully at his content threat.

He untied her gag and pushed the dosed water closer to her lips. "Drink it; I need you sedated until we get there."

* * *

><p>"Straight ahead," Angela vowed, stating the third try for the tree's location.<p>

The car sped along at one-twenty, only to be suddenly jerked to a stop.

The two lurched forward in their seat and became restrained by their seat belts.

Booth didn't have to search this time; just beyond the birch tree in front of the car, a small cabin resided in the middle of the deserted land.

Quickly, Booth threw a bullet proof vest to Hodgins and strapped one onto himself. He pulled out a gun, cocked it, and looked to the defenseless Hodgins. With an eye roll, he handed Hodgins a back-up revolver.

"Only shoot _at the perpetrator_ if I am incapable," Booth ordered, not needing another person to worry about. "Got it?"

Hodgins rolled his eyes but answered affirmatively. "Shouldn't we wait for back-up?"

"Bones is right there," Booth said. "There's nothing that's going to stop me from getting her back."

Booth began quietly making his way towards the cabin, his gun at the ready. Hodgins followed behind him, focusing on not crunching any obnoxiously loud sticks. They were so close; he didn't want it to end with Booth gunning him down for a snapping twig.

From the outside of the log cabin, nothing was audible. Booth carefully peeled the door open, cringing as it made a squeak.

After a couple uneventfully silent moments, Booth gave Hodgins a nod and stealthily marched inside with the guns drawn.

No one and nothing was visible other than a table, chairs, a fireplace, and a couch. However, in the back, a hole was cut into the floor.

* * *

><p>The edge of the glass was forced against Brennan's lips, so she turned her face away. "Please, I need to sit up."<p>

Monroe stared at her for a moment, contemplating. Reluctantly, he untied her ankles' binds, then her wrists'. Keeping a close eye on her, he hand her the glass.

Slowly, she sighed and took the glass. At a methodically sluggish pace, she placed the cool glass back against her lips and allowed a bit to trickle in.

That action let Monroe's guard down. He turned slightly to grab a bag, giving Brennan the perfect opportunity to move.

Like the strike of a snake, Brennan slammed the glass against the back of Monroe's head.

In a surprised heap, Monroe fell. Brennan slid off of the slab, holding her abdomen as she hurried past him.

However, Monroe somewhat recovered and dazedly latched onto her ankle. Brennan screeched as she fell with the psychopath.

Booth and Hodgins heard the commotion and quickly move through the small cabin and to the open stairs of the basement.

Monroe, having heard the now-evident feet overhead, latched onto Brenan's neck with his arm and pulled her to her feet with him. With his left hand, he pulled a revolver out of the back of his pants and pointed in directly at Dr. Brennan's temple.

As the two men rushed down the steps, Booth's heart sped with adoration and pure relief. Despite the dire circumstances, Brennan was back right in front of him. She was alive for him to see, right before his eyes.

Quickly, the barrel of Booth's gun, followed by Hodgins's, became trained on the middle of Monroe's forehead.

"Drop it, Monroe," Booth commanded. "Let her go."

Brennan didn't realize the true extent to which she had missed her other half until he had represented himself. He was here now, so close—so damn close! She wanted to walk towards him and fall into his arms. However, a yank to her jugular quickly deflated that fantasy.

"Leave here now, and we'll all make it out alive," Monroe threatened darkly. He wasn't going to give up his life's existence for a second.

But neither was Booth.

"Put down the gun NOW, Monroe," Booth challenged back, his eyes quickly raking over Brennan for any obvious signs of injury.

Monroe shook his head frantically, backing himself and Brennan into a wall. "She's mine. I've been waiting too long to let her go."

Booth's eyes narrowed, hating how close she and their child were to Death. "Last chance."

"I'll follow you into the afterlife, Temperance," Monroe breathed into her ear.

Fear flooded her system as a bullet rang out, echoing around this chamber.

She fell to the ground, a corpse piling on top of her. She managed to break most of the fall with her hands.

Booth rushed forwards, thrusting Monroe's lifeless, bleeding body off of Her.

He pulled her into his arms after a quick look over for dire injuries. He cradled her against his chest, murmuring promises of safety.

"Booth," she murmured, hazy, relieved, and weary. It was here that she desired refuge for the longest time. "What's happened?"

Booth considered pulling away from her; after all, she still remembered him as the stranger from seven years ago. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Apart from what has just occurred here, the last thing I remember is someone hitting me in the alley at the crime scene…" she trailed off trying to recall finer details.

He pulled her slightly away to look into her blue eyes, afraid she had lost even more memories. "And the other memories? Are they still gone?"

She gave him a tired, questioning stare. "Booth, what are you talking about? These past three days seem a little unclear, which I'm not accustomed to. Did the injury damage my hippocampus?"

Booth couldn't help it; he smiled like a mad man. He pushed Bones back closer to him and planted his mouth onto hers.

His Bones, not Brennan, was finally back in his arms.

_**Fin.**_

**I'm debating a short, fluffy epilogue. Yay or nay? Anything you want to see closed up before the story is officially closed?**

**Thank you so, so, so much for sticking with me through this all! It's been an outrageously numerous amount of delays, which I will continuously apologize for. **

**Thank you.**

_**~Alice**_


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